The Surprising Professor Smitt
by Talamack
Summary: Meet Michael Smitt: young; tattooed; covered in piercings; failed musician; waiter at the Leaky Cauldron; squib. Not exactly the kind of person you'd expect to be given a teaching post at Hogwarts. Rated T for language and sex references.
1. In Which A Young Man Is Introduced

**Right, so this is in no way meant to be a serious story. I was just reading Harry Potter and got this idea stuck in my head, then decided to type it up and see what I got. I kinda like it and hopefully someone out there on the internet will too.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling does. However, I <em>do <em>****own Michael Smitt.**

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><p>"Of course, the first Quidditch World Cup was open only to European countries and it ended up being between Transylvania and Flanders. Now it's interesting to note that, at the time, there were 700 fouls which a player could commit and they were all committed at that final game. As well as that, there were several new ones which had to be created. Non-Euorpean teams were only allowed to participate after a formal document was signed by the leader of each country and that was only in the 1600s. Another interesting thing to know is that the World Cup was originally an annual event up until 1862 when the Captain of the French team requested more time in between for players to prepare. After a lot of discussion at the International Office of Sports, it was decided that they would occur every four years. You see, four was considered the average number of-"<p>

"_Michael_! Are you being paid to talk about _Quidditch_ or to serve _drinks_? _Get back here!_"

Michael Smitt looked up at the two blonde girls to whom he had been talking and smiled apologetically. "Sorry ladies, it seems our conversation has been cut short. It was a pleasure meeting you both, I hope we see each other again."

"It was nice to meet you Michael," the shorter of the girls smiled while the other merely giggled. With one last wink, Michael pushed himself to his feet and walked back to the bar.

"Sorry, Tom," he said to the barman, taking the drinks which had been set out. "They were talking about the Quidditch World Cup so I thought I should enlighten them."

Tom shook his head and sighed. "Mike, what you do in your own time is up to you," he said. "But I would prefer it if, during your work hours, you focussed on the job at hand. Those are for table six. Off you go."

Tom's concern was well founded. The Leaky Cauldron had always been a popular pub, but that evening it was particularly busy and all the tables were taken. If the waiter were to sit and have conversations with every woman who caught his eye then the drinks would _never_ get served.

Sometimes Tom wondered why he kept that boy on staff. It wasn't that he was a particularly _good_ waiter, quite the opposite in fact. He quite often forgot someone's order and then dropped entire trays of food all over the floor when he was serving them. That and he kept taking breaks to chat up whatever attractive female was in the bar that evening. No, if it was anyone else than they would have been sacked months ago. It was just that... Well there was something about Mike which made him _likeable_. Maybe it was the cheeky grin he always wore, or maybe it was the jokes he kept coming out with. Perhaps it was the fact that he could sit for hours and explain the story behind each of his many tattoos and piercings. Maybe it was the fact that, no matter how little money Michael had in the bank, he still managed to get enough hair gel to make his hair stand in ordered spikes all over his cranium. Whatever it was, Tom wasn't about to cut the boy off with no other income. Not _yet_, anyway. Maybe if the boy did something really bad, but not before then.

"Good evening, Tom," a familiar voice said, making the barman turn.

"Hello Professor Dumbledore. What can I get for you?" Tom asked with a gummy smile. He started pulling out bottles and merrily chattered to the headmaster, quite forgetting everything going on around him for a brief moment.

After a minute, Professor Dumbledore looked up from his glass of oak-matured mead and said, quite calmly, "Why Tom. I do believe that young waiter of yours has been jinxed. Perhaps you should see to him."

"What?" Tom said, looking up just in time to see a figure at the back of his pub fall flat on his face and remain motionless on the floor. The tray Michael had been holding fell to the ground and all of the things he had been carrying shattered, sending waves of glass, china, food, and liquid out across the room. Muttering a swear under his breath, Tom moved out from behind the bar to find the culprit.

"Alright now, who did that?" Tom said, eyeing the surrounding people. He leant down and, pointing his wand at the back of Michael's head, muttered, "_Finite Incanatem_." With a gasp, the young waiter pushed himself up to his knees and clutched at his nose which was bleeding profusely.

Helping the boy get to his feet, Tom eyed the surrounding crowd. "Now, I don't want to know the reason why somebody would perform a body bind curse on this young gentleman, but-"

"He was making eyes at my girl," a burly man nearby said. Tom turned his eye on him. A tall, thick shouldered man with his arm around a small, red-headed women. The girl was blinking her large eyes at Michael rather a lot in Tom's view and frankly he could see why he would get the wrong idea.

"Be that as it may," Tom said, pointing a finger at the man. "But I do _not_ condone hexing my staff members. This is a respectable establishment and I do not permit _duelling_. Please take your lady friend and leave."

"You can't do that. I'm a paying customer."

"I reserve the right to refuse service to _anybody_," Tom snapped, turning his back. "Louisa, can you get rid of that mess? Thank you. Come on Mike, let's get you cleaned up. _Episkey_." He lead the young man into a small room behind the bar and sat him down on one of the stools there. Mike looked up at him with bleary eyes. His face was covered in blood and he seemed to have some glass fragments in his hair. Sighing, Tom vanished the glass as Mike sat dumbly on the stool.

"Care to explain what happened?" Tom asked after a moment or two.

"I didn't _know_ he was her boyfriend," Mike responded quickly. "And the only reason I was looking at her like that was because she was looking at _me_ first. I know what bedroom eyes are and she was looking at me with them. I winked back and next thing I know that guy had pulled his wand on me." He groaned and rubbed at his arm. "I tell you, people are _crazy_ these days. Why'd he have to go and hex me? I didn't even do anything."

"Knowing you, you were about to," Tom said, shaking his bald head. He wished he could say this was the first time a customer had jinxed Michael, he really did. Yet again, he asked himself why he kept the boy on staff.

"Well, thanks Tom. Sorry for the bother I caused," Mike said, getting to his feet. Some of the carefully organised spikes of his hair had come out of order and he stood correcting them for a second or two. "I'd better get back out there."

"Oh no," Tom said, grabbing Mike's shoulder. "I think you've caused a bit too much trouble for tonight. Go home now, come back tomorrow and get an early start. I think that would be the best thing for all involved."

Michael's baby blue eyes widened at his employer's words, then he hung his head. It _had_ been a long night. Perhaps it _would_ be better if he just left now and came back the next day. Wishing Tom goodnight, he pulled off the apron which was his uniform and headed out into the bar. Most people there looked at him with concern and several men stepped in front of their girlfriends, almost as if they expected Mike to leap on them. He rolled his eyes and headed towards the door. He was halfway across the room when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to find himself face to face with the smaller of the two blonde women from earlier on.

"It was so _awful_ of that man to do that to you," she said, fluttering her eyelashes. Behind her, the taller girl was nodding. "It's such a shame you have to leave."

Mike looked from one girl to the other, then back again. Finally, he smiled. "Oh, don't worry about me," he said. "I just feel sorry for that poor woman who's in a relationship with such a violent man. I believe one hundred percent that violence is _never_ the answer, don't you?"

The two girls nodded sincerely. Violence was _certainly_ not the answer. Never. They quite agreed that Mike had been perfectly innocent. He was so sensitive too, not to curse the man who did it for fear of emotionally damaging the girl. Well yes, they of course understood that he didn't want the girl from before to be frightened. That certainly wouldn't do. And yes, getting out of that noisy pub to a quiet muggle place which Michael knew sounded perfectly lovely.

From his position behind the bar, Tom watched as the young man who had been embarrassed and covered in blood a minute before left the pub with a young blonde on each arm. Shaking his head, he turned to take an order from a customer.

"I haven't seen that chap in here before, Tom," Professor Dumbledore remarked, looking at the door through which Mike had just left. "When did you take him on?"

"Oh, only a couple of months ago, Professor," Tom replied. "He came in here with a resume and asked for a job. I hadn't the heart to say no. Apparently he's been asking about a lot of places, but nobody would take him on."

"Really? Why's that."

"Er, well I'm not sure he'd be too happy I told you," Tom said, glancing round the room. "He's a bit touchy about the subject. Still, I don't imagine _you'd_ judge him or nothing, Professor. You see, he's found it hard to get a job in the wizarding world because... Well, because he's a _squib_."

"I see. Yes, people can be rather prejudiced about those things, can't they?"

"My thoughts exactly, Professor. It's a shame, because he's a bright lad. You should have seen that resume he brought in. He'd never gone to Hogwarts, but apparently the muggle school he went to was very prestigious. I'd never heard of it myself and I can't remember it now to save my life. It seems his sister went to Hogwarts though and she lent Michael all of her school books which he read when he was at school. I'm not sure how, Professor, but it seems he taught himself everything in those textbooks. Can you believe, he got nine OWLs, and seven NEWTs? Almost all of them Outstandings at that. They were only the theoretical papers of course, but the very idea is extraordinary, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore said with a nod. "I don't suppose you remember what he got those NEWTs in, do you?"

"Well now, let me see," the barman mumbled, scratching his chin. "I'm almost certain one of them was in Charms. Then there was Care of Magical Creatures, because he was helping to get rid of these giant spiders which got into the kitchen last week. Um... Ancient Runes was one of them. Transfiguration. Potions. Arithmancy. Now, there was one more, what was it?" He stood in thought, counting off his fingers. What was the seventh? Finally, he recalled it and snapped his fingers at the memory. "Yes, it was History of Magic. Really, now how could I forget that? The boy hardly shuts up about his history. Everything anyone mentions, he always has to explain the history behind it. Why, just the other day I was commenting on the price of mead and he launched into this whole story about the price of corn causing riots in 1782."

"Did he now?" Dumbledore nodded, taking another sip of mead. "I must say, Tom, this boy seems a rather interesting person. What did you say his name was?"

"Michael, Professor. Michael Smitt, but he prefers to be called Mike."

"Michael Smitt. Well, I shall have to remember that name."


	2. In Which Several Questions Are Asked

**I've been planning out a plot (of sorts) for this story and I'm actually starting to quite enjoy the sound of it. However, if you have any ideas or criticism or suggestion, I'd love to hear them. Message me or leave a review or whatever you want. Thanks.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Puffskeins are fun.<strong>

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><p>When Mike tumbled into the Leaky Cauldron the next morning he only had a few minutes to spare before his shift started. He hadn't been <em>planning<em> on getting there so late, but he had slept in. The two blondes (Lucinda and Mirabelle if he remembered correctly) had stayed drinking with him in the muggle bar until eleven at night, then Mike had somehow managed to persuade them to accompany him back to his flat. Unfortunately, once there Mirabelle had passed out on the sofa and the plans Mike had had were discarded. Instead of spending the night with _both_ of them, he had to be content with Lucinda. Luckily, Lucinda seemed perfectly amiable accompany and, as it turned out, made quiet squeaking noises like a puffskein when you touched the right spots. Grinning at the memory, Mike waltzed across the room and pulled on his apron.

"Morning, Michael," Tom said. "The food is for table three."

"Sure thing," Mike said, taking the tray which had been indicated and moving across the room. Table three was occupied by a young brunette witch dressed in purple robes and rectangular glasses. She was sipping a mug of something which Mike guessed was tea and was reading a copy of _'Year With The Yeti'_ by Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Enjoying it?" Mike asked, indicating the book. The girl looked up, revealing dark eyes rimmed with thick eyelashes.

"Yes, it's very interesting," she gushed, holding the book to her chest. "I think it's simply _amazing_ how he can do all these things by himself, you know? Such a shame he had that accident."

Mike nodded, a sorrowful expression on his face. "I quite agree," he told her, although he didn't. He didn't believe a single word that Gilderoy bloke had written and this girl was probably missing few brain cells if she believed it was true. Still, she was certainly very pretty.

"If only he'd gone on a bit longer," Mike sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Think of all the things he could have accomplished."

"That's right. He had _so_ much more to give to the world. You know, there are some people who don't believe he's telling the truth about these things. There are some people who said he made it all up just to sell more books."

"No!" Mike said, placing a hand on his chest as if wounded. "How could _anybody_ say such a thing after-"

"Michael! You are not being paid to talk about Gilderoy Lockhart! Get back to work!"

"I'm sorry, it seems our conversation is to be cut short," Mike smiled, moving away from the table. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Michael," the girl smiled, going back to her book.

"You're quite something," Tom muttered when Mike returned to the bar. "One of these days I'm going to fire you and then you'll be stuck with no money or food or house."

"Well, when that day comes I will have to _find_ a house. I am merely looking for a suitable companion with whom to spend the long, cold nights."

"Some of them are old enough to be your mother," the barman said, remembering a grey-haired woman last week who had descended into giggles at Mike's conversation.

Mike grinned, then took another plate of food over to a large family of young children sitting by the windows. He worked diligently for the morning, only stopping once or twice to strike up conversations. The dark haired woman had been called Sophia and she had slipped a business card into the pocket of Mike's jeans without him noticing. Then there was the flustered girl who was just out of Hogwarts and nervous about her first job out in the real world; a girl whose boyfriend had been cheating on her; and a slightly older woman who had piercing blue-green eyes which made Mike slightly weak at the knees.

He had managed to get the names and addresses of the first two and was working on the third when something thumped into the back of his legs and a tiny voice screamed, "Uncle Mike!" Turning, Mike found a short, chestnut-haired boy with a pointed face clutching onto his legs.

"Lewis!" he cried happily, picking the boy up off the ground and pulling him into a hug. Then, to the woman he added, "I'm sorry our conversation has been cut short. It was nice talking to you."

"And you, Mike," the woman said with a smile.

Carrying the small boy in a fireman's lift, Mike walked over to a nearby table and sat down. "Where's your mum?" he asked, settling Lewis in a chair. Lewis grinned and pointed a finger. Coming through the door was Lewis' mother and Mike's older sister. The family resemblance was not, at first, apparent. Mike was tall and skinny whereas his sister, Bethany, was short and lithe. Mike's face was pointed and Bethany's was round. Mike's eyes were light and Bethany's were dark. It was only when you talked to her that you saw how she was like her brother.

Bethany had a very adventurous personality and didn't think of the consequences of her actions. However, whereas Mike used this quirk when he was picking up women, Bethany used it at her job at a dragon reserve in Romania. As it turned out, not thinking about one's actions wasn't a useful thing to do when one was working with dragons so Bethany had sustained a wide variety of scars across her body. There was often a competition between the siblings to see who had more: Bethany's scars or Mike's tattoos. At that moment, Bethany was winning with forty-seven, but Mike had an appointment at a tattoo parlour that afternoon so he was feeling hopeful.

"How's my baby brother?" Bethany asked, kissing Mike on the cheek. Her mouth had a small, mottled scar running across it which always felt strange when she kissed Mike.

"He is very well," Mike replied, kissing Bethany back. Mike had a lip ring on the left side of his lower lip which always felt oddly cold when he kissed Bethany. "What brings you here?"

"I was meeting a friend here for drinks and Lewis wanted to see his uncle," Bethany said with a smile. Lewis absolutely adored Michael and the boy hadn't stopped babbling about this trip all morning. Now, he was hopping up in down in excitement and beaming up at the adults with wide, expectant eyes. Grinning, Mike turned to look at the bar. Tom was talking to a tall man with long hair and a white beard who Mike thought he recognised as a customer from the previous evening.

"Hey Tom!" he called, making the barman look up. Indicating his nephew, Mike continued, "Is it alright with you if I take my break now?"

With his usual gummy smile, Tom nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way, lad. Off you go." Then, he turned back to his conversation with the bearded man. Mike whooped and scooped his nephew off of the ground. Then, with a quick grin at Bethany, he tucked the boy under his arm and ran with him out into Diagon Alley. Bethany chuckled, then moved over to the bar.

"Hello Professor Dumbledore," she said, settling herself on a stool next to her old headmaster. "I must say, I was quite surprised when I got your owl this morning. Why did you want to see me?"

"Well, Bethany," Dumbledore replied, smiling over the top of his glasses. "I wanted to ask you and Tom a few things about your brother, Michael."

000

"Where to, captain?"

"Onwards!" Lewis called from his position on Mike's shoulders. He grabbed a spike of hair in each hand and pushed them forwards like a joystick, making his uncle speed up. As they went, Lewis made loud 'Kapow' noises every so often while Mike made the growling sound of an aeroplane. Several people in the street turned to look at them, causing Lewis to point a finger at them and yell more loud 'Kapows'. Shopkeepers, who were used to this behaviour from Mike, just ignored it.

Suddenly, Lewis tugged on his uncle's spikes of hair and made them turn right. "I wanna go in here," the boy said, pointing a finger at the shop in front of him.

"What's the magic word?"

Lewis huffed. "I wanna go in here, _please_."

"Very good," Mike said, picking Lewis off of his shoulder and depositing him on the ground. The two pushed their way into Quality Quidditch Supplies, Lewis hopping up and down in his eagerness.

000

"Oh yes, I've learnt more from him than I ever learnt at my school lessons," Tom was saying, polishing a glass. "He makes it sound _interesting_, the way he tells it. And he always tries to find an example so things are easier to understand. I think he talked about the goblin rebellions by comparing it to... Comparing it to wizards being locked in cages all their lives, then somebody handing them a key. Well, no. He said it _better_ than that. Sorry Professor, my memory's not what it used to be."

"He always helped me with my homework," Bethany added. "Which was embarrassing since he's so much younger than I am. Still, if it got me through my exams I wasn't going to complain, was I? People were always asking for my help and they always wanted to copy the notes he gave me."

"So you both think he's able to teach?" Dumbledore asked. "You both say you found what he had to say interesting?"

"Oh yeah," Bethany said while Tom nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, he was much better than that guy at Hogwarts. Uh... No offence, Professor."

"None taken," Dumbledore smiled, raising a hand. "I just have a few more questions I'd like to ask you. How reliable would you say he is?"

000

"They're so _cool_!" Lewis cooed, running his hands over a full set of dark grey robes. "The Falmouth Falcons are the best quidditch team ever."

"You don't need to tell me," Mike grinned. He had been an avid supporter of the Falmouth Falcons since he was fourteen and went to see them play. He didn't think he'd seen quite so much blood at a sports game before or since, but from that moment he was hooked. His nephew had turned out to be just as bloodthirsty and the two often went to games together. Most of the time Lewis had to be sneaked out of the house, since Bethany didn't want her son exposed to too much of the violence which always occurred when the Falcons played. She'd prefer it if Lewis supported her preferred team: the Tornadoes. These robes were really quite something, though. Surely she wouldn't object to her son owning a pair. Mike checked the price tag, then blanched in horror.

"Sorry kid, too expensive for me," he said with a shrug. "But maybe when I find a pile of gold at the bottom of my shoe, I'll buy you a set."

"Will you?" Lewis beamed. He pulled his uncle into a hug, muttering 'thank you' over and over again. As he did this, Mike looked around the room for something more affordable. His gaze fell on a dark grey scarf with a white image of a falcon, which had been placed on a nearby shelf.

Picking the scarf up with a flourish, Mike wrapped it around the kid's neck. "There you go, just a little something from your old Uncle Mike."

"Eight sickles," said the woman behind the counter who had been watching the goings on. With a smile, Mike fished out his money and laid the coins down on the counter. The woman was definitely attractive, with smooth skin and a heart-shaped face, but he had certain _rules_ about this kind of thing. One of them was that he didn't flirt with anybody when he was out with his nephew. Maybe next time.

"Come on, kid," Mike said, kicking Lewis lightly on the back of his leg. "Let's go show your mum what a great scarf you have."

000

"And he's very friendly. Gets along with every customer we have in. Well, usually. You saw what happened last night."

"I did indeed. Is that a common occurrence, Tom?"

"Not _common_, Professor. Just not _uncommon_ enough for my liking. I'd keep him away from every couple in the world if I could."

"He's been like that since we were kids. Even in nursery he'd give girls flowers so that they'd eat his broccoli for him."

Tom chuckled, then looked at the Hogwarts Headmaster. "Anything else you'd like to know, Professor?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, Tom. I think I've got enough information now. I would however, like to have a few words with Michael himself."

"Well, here he is, just on time. Mike!"

"Tom! Don't you think Lewis is just the best little quidditch supporter in the world?" Mike held Lewis up and placed him on a stool so that everybody could see the new scarf he was wearing. Tom complemented him on it, making Lewis swell with pride, but Bethany frowned.

"Not the Falmouth Falcons _again_," she sighed. "I've told you a thousand times, Mike. I don't want Lewis going to those games. They always become one big bloodbath."

"That's what makes them good. Oh come on Beth, they're only a bit of fun," Mike smiled. He then noticed the bearded man looking at him appraisingly. "Hello sir, I don't think we've met. Michael Smitt, Bethany's little brother."

"Professor Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore smiled, offering out his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Taking the hand and shaking it firmly, Mike nodded in recognition. "Ah, so _you're_ the headmaster of Hogwarts. Nice to finally meet you too. I've got to get back to work now, though. Tom, where d'you want me?"

"Actually, Mike," Tom interrupted. "I think you and Professor Dumbledore should have a little chat."

Mike looked from Tom to Professor Dumbledore and back again. "Why? What's going on?"

Dumbledore smiled and got to his feet. "Well, Michael. If you are interested, I was wondering whether or not I could interest you in a job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"


	3. In Which There Are Revelations

**Third chapter. Hope you like it. It's just Mike being the moron that he is and you get a little insight into his past.**

**If you have any comments, feedback, criticism etc. then please tell me in a PM or review. Thanks!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Being gay is A-Okay.<strong>

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><p>From the table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Albus Dumbledore had reached the end of his interview with Michael Smitt. At that moment he was smiling calmly as Michael explained just <em>why<em> he had decided to take job at the Leaky Cauldron instead of going to University.

"And of course, people were just banging at my door, sir," he was saying with a slight blush. "Just banging on it. They kept offering me full scholarships for music courses and maths courses, but I belong in the wizarding world and so I stayed. You can't deny what the heart wants, can you? It's been hard at times, due to my little er... Little _problem_." He cringed slightly at the mention of him being a squib, then continued. "But I must stick to what I love."

Dumbledore nodded sagely and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Well, Michael, everything seems to be in order," he said. "I just have one last problem I'd like to talk to you about."

"Oh, yes?" Michael said, grinning widely. Dumbledore held out the sheet of paper on which was printed the resume which Mike had handed to Tom and which had then been passed on to the Headmaster. Dumbledore pointed at the list of qualifications.

"You say here that you have seven NEWTs," he said calmly. "Outstandings in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures. Exceeds Expectations in Arithmancy and Transfiguration."

"Yes," Michael nodded. "Yes I _do_ say that there." He felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck and glanced round. Tom was standing behind the bar and smiled encouragingly when he met Mike's eyes. Mike returned the smile a little nervously, then looked back at his potential employer.

Dumbledore peered down at the resume. "You see Michael, I talked to somebody at the Ministry of Magic this morning and they gave me a record of your exam results."

"D- Did they? Oh..." Mike felt his face go slightly pale and glanced round again to make sure Tom wasn't in earshot. "Um... Well, everybody fudges a little bit on their resumes, Profssor Dumbledore. I-"

"Four NEWTS," Dumbledore interrupted, reading off a second length of parchment he had produced. "Exceeds Expectations in Defense Against the Dark Arts and HIstory of Magic. Acceptables in Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes. No passing grade at all in Transfiguration or Charms. They have no record of you even sitting Arithmancy." He folded the parchment up and gave Mike a long piercing look which made him shrink back into the chair.

In a quiet voice, he croaked, "C- Can I maybe explain what went on?"

"Certainly you can, Michael. I am, as they say, all ears."

Mike took a shuddering breath, then launched into an explanation. "I didn't lie about the OWLs, sir. I did get quite a few Outstandings in them and I was chuffed. But then I got a bit stupid and full of myself and I said I didn't need two whole years to prepare for NEWTs so I just sat them the next year. Of course, I needed two years to get all the work done so I didn't do quite as well as I could've done. I was embarrassed when I got the results so I told my family that they were all really good and then they all thought I was such a genius and started to tell all of their friends about what a genius I was and it got to the stage where it would just be embarrassing if I corrected them. Then when it was time to get a job, I put down the real marks I got and nobody took any interest. I was just a squ- A non-magical person who only got four NEWTs, they didn't care about me. Then by the time I applied here I was getting desperate so... So I lied about my NEWT marks. I know it's stupid now and I wish I hadn't done it because it was wrong. But I don't think it's really _lying_ because I bet I'd've been able to get those marks if I'd sat NEWTs _two_ years after my OWLs and not one."

He clamped his mouth shut and blinked timidly at the headmaster. "H- Have I blown it? Are you not going to give me the job now?"

Dumbledore surveyed the boy in front of him coolly. Then he smiled. "Did you know, Michael, that one of the teachers I employ didn't even get any OWLs?"

"Um... Really?"

"Yes. A rather delightful member of staff named Rubeus Hagrid, our care of Magical Creatures teacher. He was expelled before he got the chance to sit any exams. However, he is passionate about the subject and I believe he was the correct man for the job."

"Good..." Mike clenched his hands together, wondering if Professor Dumbledore meant what he thought he meant.

"Now, I certainly see you as qualified for the position and from the way you've talked, you definitely have enthusiasm for the subject."

"Y- Yeah. Yeah, I do have enthusiasm." Mike felt his mouth break out into a grin and he leaned forward hopefully.

"Michael," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I expect to see you at Hogwarts on the first of September, as our newest member of Staff. I-" But he was interrupted by Mike giving out a whoop and punching the air.

"Drinks all around!" he called to the quite crowded bar. A cheer went up around the room at words and Mike was about to move over to help Tom pour drinks, when a hand caught his arm. He turned and found the Hogwarts Headmaster looking at him.

"I shall tell you now Michael, that I will not tolerate dishonesty from here on out," he said in a stern voice. "Now. I know about your school marks, is there anything else you wish to tell me?'

Mike smiled sheepishly. "Um... People weren't exactly breaking my door down to get me a place at university," he admitted. "The reason I got a job here is because... Because I left my applications too late and all the universities were full." He neglected to tell Dumbledore that the reason he'd left it so late had been because he was sure his band was about to take off. After all, to admit that would have just been _embarrassing_.

000

"So, this is what they'll get on their booklists. Hmm... Seems straightforward enough. Just like the one I had as a kid. And this is the higher level one, is it? Yup, I'll get that too. Oh, and this one for the NEWT students..." Mike loaded his arms with the various schoolbooks then headed for the cash register. He wanted to get a clear understanding of what he could expect from these kids, so reading their books seemed the best way to go. With a grunt, he deposited them on the counter.

"Just these, thanks," he said, pulling a purse of coins out of his jacket pocket.

"Mike?" a voice said. Mike looked up and saw a girl with long blonde hair, round face, and an hourglass figure. Instantly, he recognised her as an ex- Well, girlfriend wasn't the word he'd use. Repeat-sexual-partner, that sounded more like it. He recognised her as Jennifer, an ex-repeat-sexual-partner.

Now, Mike had certain _rules_ about these things and one of them was that, when he stopped seeing a girl, he waited a certain amount of time before seeing them again. His mind chunked through his internal calendar and, when he realised that they had last seen each other two months ago, he smiled. Two months was the bare minimum, so this encounter was fine.

"Jennifer," he greeted her. "How've you been?"

"You bastard."

"Eh?" He took a hasty step backwards at the furious look in Jennifer's eyes. What had he done? Had he stolen something of hers by accident? Had he broken something? Had he gotten drunk one night and asked her to marry him, then left in the morning with no memory of his actions? Oh God, was her name not Jennifer? _Got to stop drinking_, he told himself mentally as the girl advanced.

"You complete and utter bastard," she said. "How do you live with yourself?"

"Um..." Mike said, still struggling to remember just _what_ he'd done. He was sure he'd behaved perfectly normally and he was sure her name _was_ Jennifer. Maybe this girl just didn't take kindly to boys leaving in the middle of the night...

Jennifer stopped and looked at him, realisation flooding her face. She gave a short laugh. "Merlin. You don't remember, do you?"

"Of course I remember," Michael lied. "I mean... How could I forget? Uh..."

"Shall I refresh your memory?" she snapped, taking a step forward. "A week after meeting you, you tell me you really like me. I liked you too. Then, one day, I find you in bed with my-"

"Your sister!" Mike said, finally realising. Jennifer had a sister a year older than her. She had very pretty, large eyes, and eyes were always the first thing Mike noticed in a woman. He dimly remembered that night...

"Not _just_ my sister!" Jennifer snapped, interrupting his reverie. Her face going an interesting shade of scarlet. "My sister's _boyfriend_!"

Mike froze in place, his mind reeling. Jennifer's sister and Jennifer's sister's _boyfriend_? How drunk had he been that night? He must've been quite plastered if he'd been up for it with another guy. With a frown, he tried to remember. Then it came pouring back. He had been drunk and so had Jennifer and her boyfriend when one of them, Mike couldn't remember _who_, had suggested a threesome. He couldn't recall all of the details, but he remembered that it had been surprisingly enjoyable.

"_Oh_!" Mike said, finally understanding something which had been bugging him for months. "That must've been why I have Dave tattooed on my arm now. That explains a lot. Look, Jennifer, I'm really sorry. I was completely drunk that night and I had no idea what I was- Oh, okay. That's your wand. I really don't think you should- Now come on, I've already apologised! Put it away, I-"

"Stupefy!"

Mike yelped and ducked just in time to miss a jolt of red light which hit a stack of books and sent them flying. The shop assistant, who had been watching the conversation with an amused expression on his face, now gave a yell and told them not to damage the merchandise. Jennifer raised her wand to cast another stunning spell and Mike took that as his cue to leave. With a despairing glance at the books he was now unable to buy, he wrenched the door open and ran out into the street.

"Come back here, you lousy cheating scum!" Jennifer yelled from behind him, sending out another jet of light. It missed Mike purely by chance and hit one of the tables outside Florean Fortescue's. A curly haired boy who had been sitting nearby laughed at the sight while his mother watched the whole display open-mouthed. Mike didn't bother to look at what was happening around him, but kept his head down and pelted down the road. He forced himself through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, narrowly avoiding a plump, red-haired woman, took a sharp left and leapt behind the bar.

"Tom!" he called as he disappeared out of sight. "You know the drill!"

"Where is he?" Mike heard Jennifer cry from his position beneath the bar countertop. Tom shifted his position so his knees were right in front of Mike's nose.

"If you're looking for the young man with the spiked hair," he said in an offhand manner. "He just disapparated. And I'm afraid I've no idea where he went. He doesn't work here any more you see." There was a huff and the sound of somebody thumping down onto a stool.

"One Butterbeer, please," Jennifer said in a grouchy voice. Tom pulled out a bottle from the crate beside Mike's head, casting his ex-employee a disparaging look as he did so. Mike shrugged and settled himself in for a long wait. After an hour and a half, Tom gave Mike the all clear and he struggled to his feet, clutching the bar for support.

"I think," he started, before losing his balance and stumbling slightly. "Ow, my legs have no feeling any more. I think I'm just gonna stay in my room for the rest of the holidays. Um... Yeah, that'll be safer." He turned and hobbled off across the room, clutching onto various tables and chairs for support. Just before he reached the stairs up to the inn rooms, he caught hold of one of the waiters.

"Tim. Can you do me a favour?" When Tim nodded, Mike pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and wedged it into the waiter's hand. "If you could go to Flourish and Blotts and buy me the books I've circled there, I'd be really grateful. I'll pay you back and I'll give you a galleon besides. I just... I don't think I'm going to go outside for a while. You never know who you'll run into." With that, he stumbled up the staircase and into the room of the Leaky Cauldron which had been his home for the past three months and which he would be leaving in a few short weeks.


	4. In Which A Long Journey Is Taken

**I have nothing to say here, except enjoy this chapter. Please let me know if you have any feedback or criticism.**

**Also, I don't want to label Mike or anything. In my mind, he's just a weirdo who cares about his hair too much. Uncle Vernon just uses the term 'punk kid' to describe messy teenagers. He does in my mind anyway.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Zoos are handy things for taking your mind off something.<strong>

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><p>"I don't know, Mike. All that commotion at the world cup was enough to scare me stiff. Squibs are only one step up from muggles in their eyes, you know that don't you?" Bethany was standing on the train platform with her brother, anxiously rereading the Daily Prophet article. They had arrived reasonably early so there were only a few families there and they had time to talk before Mike boarded the train. The news of the muggle attacks at the Quidditch World Cup had caused Bethany to apparate down to London in order to see her brother off and make sure nobody attacked him. Lewis had been annoyed that he hadn't been able to come too, but stopped protesting when his father took him to the zoo to take his mind off it.<p>

With a sigh, Mike snatched the newspaper from his sister and ripped it in two. "Bethany, that article was a load of rubbish and you _know_ it," he said, rolling his eyes. "That Rita Skeeter doesn't know a thing that happened, she's just paid to write articles that sell. Obviously, 'Muggles Terrorised by Evil Deatheaters' sounded better than 'Revellers got a bit Drunk and Stupid'. I'll be fine, it's just _school_."

Bethany snatched the newspaper back and repaired it with a tap of her wand. She sighed. Her brother was young and naïve, but she had to admit he was right about this. The newspaper _did_ make things up just to sell things and it _was_ just school. She was worrying over nothing.

"Why is it," Bethany asked, grabbing her brother by the ears and scowling. "That you are such a genius?"

Mike smirked. "Because some lucky star was watching over my birth. Can I get on the train now?"

"Sure," Bethany sighed, letting go and stepping back. It was an odd sight really: the tall, spiky-haired boy pushing a trunk onto a red train, with small children running all around him and bursts of magic from people's wands. She wondered dimly how the students would take to him. She knew for certain that Mike would be a good twenty years younger than most of the other teachers. He had managed to get his NEWTs just a year after his OWLs, so he had completed all of his schoolwork, travelled a bit and already been working for a year but his nineteenth birthday had only been a month ago. There might even be a few students in seventh year who were older than him, the ones who had repeated a grade anyway.

Bethany marvelled that Dumbledore had offered him a teaching post but, as he had pointed out, he had never actually gone to Hogwarts and he had completed his NEWTs a few years ago. Since a year was the amount of time he preferred to wait before giving jobs at Hogwarts, this was perfectly acceptable. Bethany smirked to herself when she remembered how much Mike had bragged about his seven NEWTs and how jealous she had been. After all, she'd only managed to get six and only two of them were Outstandings. Really, she didn't know how he did it.

With a sigh, she turned on the spot and disapparated. He was no longer her little baby brother who she could pick up and hang by his ankles out of the second story window. He was no longer the sullen thirteen-year-old who spat insults at her whenever they made eye contact. He was now Professor Smitt of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She'd never been so proud of him.

000

Whistling to himself, Mike pushed his trunk into one of the last carriages at the end of the train. His sister had enchanted it the day before so that the inside was larger than the outside. Whereas before he could have managed his clothes, a few shoes and some of his books, it now contained a great deal more than it should have. All of his clothes and shoes, as well as his books, his pictures, his posters, and his guitars and his cello had all slipped in without any difficulty at all. He also managed to add in several lamps, a bedspread, some curtains Tom had given him as a good-bye gift, his whole music collection and a record player. Bethany had cast a rotation charm on the handle so he could listen to his records without the magic in the air making everything go haywire. He still marvelled at the things magic could do when he lifted the trunk that morning and found it to be as light as if it was completely empty. His only concern was how he'd be able to unpack it without the use of magic. He'd probably have to ask another teacher for help.

"This is going to be a good year," he told himself, settling himself down on the seat and looking out the window.

By the time the train arrived at Hogwarts, it was pouring with rain. Lightning was flashing across the sky and thunder rumbled threateningly. Mike thought it would be a good idea to take his umbrella. The sixth year Hufflepuffs with whom he had been sitting insisted he share a carriage with them up to the school, so it was with a smile and some good company that Mike first laid eyes on Hogwarts. It took his breath away.

His sister had always described Hogwarts as a large castle with a great number of towers and windows, but that description didn't do it justice at all. He didn't think _any_ description could do it justice. A flash of lightning lit it up for a brief moment, then the darkness washed back in and all that could be seen were the glowing orange windows peering out of the night. Lost for words at the sight of it, Mike barely paid any attention to what his companions were saying, until one of them shook his shoulder to signal their arrival at the school steps. All five people sheltering under Mike's one umbrella, the group hurried up the long flight of stairs until they reached the entrance hall.

"Well, it was nice talking to you," Mike smiled, closing his umbrella with a flourish. "It's a pity none of you will be taking my lesson for your NEWTs, but never mind. Hopefully, I'll see you around."

"Good-bye Professor Smitt," a girl called as the group walked through a door..

"Ah, Professor Smitt, you've arrived," a stern voice said. Mike turned round to find himself face to face with a tall, hard-eyed woman with dark robes. "Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor. Pleasure to meet you." She shook Mike's hand, then pointed a finger towards the door through which the Hufflepuffs had just walked.

"You have never been to Hogwarts before, I take it?" she asked, making Mike shake his head. "Well then, this is the Great Hall, where we eat. The teacher's sit at the top table. Come with me." Turning on her heel, she lead Mike through the doors into the Hall where four long tables had been set out. Students had already seated themselves at most of them and several turned round to get a glimpse of the new teacher. Mike was looking around, eagerly taking it all in. He gasped when he looked up at the ceiling.

"Whoa, it looks like the sky," he said in a low voice. "I read about it, but never actually thought it'd look like that. I tell you, Rowena Ravenclaw was quite right when she suggested that. I can't believe the other founders doubted her for a second."

"You know your school history," McGonagall commented, her voice sounding reasonably impressed. "I suppose that's only to be expected, though."

Mike shrugged. "I've read _Hogwarts: A History_ a couple of times. It's a good book. Ah, is this me?"

"It is indeed. The seat on the right if you please. The one at the end will be for Rubeus Hagrid, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Right-o," Mike grinned, sitting at his place and shrugging out of his jacket. He raised a hand to his hair and, once certain that his spikes were all still there, greeted the teacher next to him and launched into a conversation.

000

"Hope they hurry up with the sorting, I'm starving," said Harry, taking off his trainers and emptying them of water. Colin Creevey was calling down the table to him about his brother Dennis who was arriving that year. Harry nodded, then looked up at the staff table. There were a few empty seats that evening. Hagrid was probably ferrying children across the lake and McGonagall was probably out drying the entrance hall after Peeves the poltergeist had emptied water all over it. He looked around for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and spotted him almost at once.

"Blimey," he heard Ron say next to him. "That new guy looks pretty young." Harry had to agree. Sitting next to Professor Vector and having a very animated conversation was the most unlikely looking person to ever turn up on the Hogwart's staff table. He had long dark hair which had been styled into spikes; a brightly coloured t-shirt; arms covered in various coloured tattoos; and glittering sliver piercings across his face and all over his ears. Harry felt his jaw drop at the sight, then turned to his friends.

"No wonder Snape doesn't look too pleased," he said, indicating the sallow-faced potions master. "Losing out on his favourite job to a teenager."

"How do you know he's a teenager," Hermione said. "He may have been hit by a de-ageing spell."

"Come off it Hermione," Ron said. "Would a de-ageing curse do his hair and clothes too? He looks like one of those muggles I see when I'm out in Ottery St. Catchpole sometimes."

"I think they're called punks," Harry said, remembering seeing a group of them in the park by Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had grabbed Dudley's hand and steered him away as quickly as she could, almost as if one of them would pounce if they walked too slowly. Yes, he was pretty sure Uncle Vernon had muttered something about 'punk kids'.

"It doesn't matter _what_ they're called," snapped Hermione. "He's a _teacher_. You shouldn't be talking about what he looks like. He must be good at Defence Against the Dark Arts or else Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him." The conversation was stopped at this point by the arrival of the first years.

000

"Oh, so _that's_ the sorting hat," Mike breathed, leaning forward to get a better look. "I wonder what house it'd place _me_ in."

Professor Vector glanced sideways at the new teacher. "Perhaps, after tonight, you could go to the Headmaster's office and try it on yourself. You never know. It might give its opinion."

Nodding enthusiastically at this idea, Mike listened intently to the hat's song, then clapped when it was over. A nice little ditty. Obviously the hat spent its time throughout the rest of the year thinking up new ones to sing. It seemed like a nice enough life to Mike. Get carried out one evening a year to sing a song, then spend the rest of the time thinking up what you'll sing next. When the sorting began, Mike applauded loudly as Stewart Ackerly was sorted into Ravenclaw. He had always been interested in the magic which had been used to give the hat the ability both to read minds and to reason which would be the most suitable house. However, a part of him also wondered if it wasn't a bit short-sighted to segregate students so early in life.

"Hello," a voice said, making Mike look up. A tall, broad man with wild black hair and beard had just sat down next to him. Mike sat up and offered out a hand.

"You must be Rubeus Hagrid," he said. "Care of Magical Creatures, right? I'm Michael Smitt, people call me Mike."

"Nice ter meet yeh," Hagrid responded, taking the other teacher's hand and almost crushing it. "People just call me Hagrid usually. You the new Defense 'Gainst the Dark Arts teacher?"

000

"My father says this school is going to the dogs," Draco remarked, casting a disparaging eye at the new staff member. "If they let riffraff like _that_ in, I can see why. I dread to think what kind of lessons he's going to give us."

"Looks like a _muggle_," Pansy Parkinson said, wrinkling her nose. "He's wearing muggle clothes too, did you see? Jeans I think they call them. Looks horribly ugly, really. Why can't he wear robes to school?"

"I really think I should've been sent to Durmstrang, you know," Draco continued. "They wouldn't _think_ of employing someone like that."

000

"Slave labour," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose and glaring at the food set out along the table. "Slave _labour_."

000

"How anyone can live here, with this food and _not_ weigh a tonne, I'll never know," Mike said, shovelling mashed potato into his mouth. "Is there some enchantment on it or something? You know, so it tastes good but doesn't fatten you up too much."

"Yeh know, I'm not sure," Hagrid said. "I'll have to ask the house elves. Might be. Wouldn't put it past 'em."

Mike nodded, then asked Hagrid to pass him the gravy and started talking about dragons, a subject about which the Care of Magical Creatures teacher was _very_ interested. When the feast was over and the food had been cleared away, the school headmaster got to his feet and a hush fell over the Great Hall.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at everyone. "Now that we are all fed and watered I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are delighted to introduce Professor Smitt, our new History of Magic Professor who will be replacing Professor Binns."

Mike gave a cheery wave as he was introduced and the hall started applauding at the announcement, but he could definitely hear mutterings of surprise. The previous teacher had been a ghost who had taught at Hogwarts since the seventeenth century. Apparently, he had one day gotten up to teach a lesson and left his body behind him. It was obvious why there was a feeling of shock of going through the Hall. Nobody had replaced Professor Binns for over three hundred years, so why _now_? Mike had asked that question himself at his interview with Professor Dumbledore in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Well, Michael," Dumbledore had said with a smile. "The truth is, I've been wanting to replace Professor Binns for years, but you're the first person I've found who actually enjoyed History of Magic enough to consider taking the job."


	5. In Which There Is A Ghost

**The next chapter won't be up for a while. My family's going camping for a week. And by 'camping', I mean sitting in a tent hundreds of miles from anywhere with no showers, toilets, electricity, phone reception, or internet. Should be fun... Not.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: The musical opinions of Michael Smitt do not necessarily reflect the musical opinions of the author.<strong>

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><p>Mike woke up early the next morning and it took him a few moments to remember where he was. When he realised that he was in <em>Hogwarts<em> and not his old, dingy flat with the leaking roof, he leapt right out of bed with the widest grin on his face. The room he was in now was large and clean with a fireplace in one wall. There was a soft carpet beneath his feet, an extraordinarily comfortable bed with more than enough room for two people, bookshelves, bedside table, the lot. One wall was taken up with a window looking out over the grounds. Now, Mike ran up to it and pulled the curtains aside, letting light flood into the room. Below, the grounds stretched away into the distance. The lake glittered beneath the sun and the forest looked large and dark. In the distance, purple mountains hemmed in the entire scene.

"Oh yes!" Mike yelled, punching the air in triumph. At last, his life was going the way he wanted. Grinning, he fished out some clothes from the chest of drawers by his bed and started to get dressed.

000

If you had told Mike five years ago that he would be teaching History of Magic at Hogwarts, he would have scoffed and said that the only life for him was music. All through his secondary school life, Mike had wanted to become a musician. He wanted to be like his idols: The Sex Pistols, ABBA, The Weird Sisters. He had wanted to have his name up in lights, posters of his face plastered across walls. He had wanted people to come from miles around to hear him perform. He had planned it all out, you know.

He had knowledge of the wizarding world and he was a talented musician, as his school marks would attest to. He would therefore combine the two and become a household name in both the wizarding and muggle world. Unfortunately, that didn't exactly pan out. Muggles had been confused by Mike's references to broom games and magical creatures they couldn't comprehend. Wizards had laughed at the music and treated it as a joke. It was after one disastrous gig at a local college, where the audience had stormed the stage, stolen the instruments and stamped on them, that things stopped. The band members Mike had managed to gather didn't want to buy new instruments after each performance, and hadn't even liked the music much in the first place. Eventually, Mike had had to admit defeat and concentrate on his studying.

"Failing at music was the best thing that ever happened to me," Mike muttered to himself, placing each of his piercings in position. "I can't believe I'm actually at Hogwarts. This is gonna rock!"

His bedroom was joined to his office by a small foyer and a flight of stairs. Mike had managed to get another teacher to help him unpack the night before, so the room was filled with his books and posters as well as most of the books which Professor Binns had left behind. The History of magic professor looked at the decor approvingly as he made his way through the room. Just as he was leaving the office, he spotted an envelope which had been pushed under the door. Scooping it up, he saw that it was his lesson timetable.

"Brilliant," he muttered, opening it with a flick of his wrist. "What've I got first?"

000

Five minutes later a very out of breath Professor Smitt was seen to jog into the great hall and up to Professor McGonagall. This caused quite a bit of giggling from many students who had never seen one of their teacher's running with quite such a desperate look on their face.

"Good morning, Minerva," Mike huffed when he reached the Staff Table. He opened his mouth to continue, then had to double over and wait to get his breath back.

"Michael, whatever's the matter?" McGonagall asked, her eyebrows raised slightly. As answer, Mike raised his timetable.

"It's just... Ho, my. I'm terribly unfit... It's just that I don't seem to have any classes scheduled for today." Mike gasped, then pointed a finger at the column marked 'Monday'. McGonagall sighed.

"Yes, I'm afraid that would've been when you would have taught your NEWT students," she explained. "But it seems nobody signed up for it. This is the sixth year in a row we haven't had anybody apply for an NEWT in History of Magic, and the year before that we only had one."

Mike was crestfallen. "You mean to tell me that nobody wants to study History of Magic past OWL level? You can't be serious."

"Sorry, Michael. I know this must be disappointing." She handed back the timetable with a sorrowful expression. Mike took it and frowned.

He sat in silence for the rest of breakfast, chewing pensively on a piece of toast and staring into the distance. He was figuring out an plan of action for the day, but a loud screeching noise shocked him into spitting out his food and losing his train of thoughts. A thousand owls were flying into the hall, delivering letters to all the students._ I'll have to get used to that_, he thought as he wiped up the toast and jam which had gone everywhere.

"Exciting about this Triwizard Tournament, 'ent it?" said Hagrid, jerking Mike out of his reverie.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, that should be pretty good actually. You have any idea who might enter from Hogwarts?"

"Oh, I know a couple. There's Fred 'n George Weasley who'll be up fer it. They'll take some Agein' Potion though."

"Ah, I wonder how the age line will get them."

"Dunno, but I bet Dumbeldore'll think of summat. You doin' anythin' this mornin', Mike?"

"Well, yes actually. I was wondering. Do you know where I might be able to find Professor Binns? Is he still around?"

The tall man frowned in thought for a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I think he spends his time hanging round the staff room. Why?"

"I'd like to know why nobody took History of Magic for NEWT level," said Mike, getting to his feet. "Bye, Hagrid. See you later."

"Bye Mike."

As he trotted past the Gryffindor table, Mike's sensitive ears did manage to hear a group of boys discussing the age line, but when he glanced round he didn't see that any of them looked like they could be twins.

000

The day before, Filius Flitwick had presented him with a detailed map of Hogwarts as a welcome gift. It was very useful and even had a little dot which was him, indicating where he was on the grounds. Mike pulled this out of his trouser pocket and looked for the staff room. _Right, one floor up and down the corridor. Here we go._

With quick movements, Mike trotted up the stairs and down the corridor until he arrived in front of a large polished door flanked by gargoyles. As he approached, one of them croaked, "Well now, who do we have here?"

"Professor Smitt," he said with a smile, pushing the staff door open and stepping through. It was a large room with a number of sofas and armchairs placed here and there across the place. Tables had been set out with chess boards and there was a tall bookshelf all along one wall. There was a fireplace which wasn't at that moment lit and, in one corner of the room, there was a shimmering ghost hovering just above the floor.

Stepping towards this, Mike asked, "Professor Binns?" The ghost turned, revealing himself to be an old man with thick glasses.

"Yes, Mr Sanders?" he said in a wavering voice.

"Um... Well sir," Mike stammered, quite forgetting what he had planned to do at this point. The fact that he was physically talking to a _ghost_ had thrown him slightly. A _ghost_! Eventually, he managed to get out, "I was just wondering if you could... If you could tell me... Tell me about the Goblin Rebellions." Mike had picked the subject which he had always found the most interesting in order to properly gauge his predecessor's teaching style. What he was met with made his jaw drop.

Professor Binns opened his mouth and started talking in a quiet, monotonous voice about the treatment of Goblins and their rights in society. When Mike had first read his books he had found himself incensed at the treatment the Goblins had received and didn't blame them for their rebellions. Listening to Binns talk about it, it sounded like the dullest thing in the world. He stood there for a further ten minutes, feeling his brain turn into jelly as Binns' voice continued on in the same soporific tone.

"Ah, Professor Smitt. Getting to know your fellow historian, eh?"

The voice broke through the wall of noise that was professor Binns and snapped Mike back to the present. He looked round and found a cheery professor Vector settling herself in a chair. Mike greeted her and moved away from the ghostly teacher who kept talking about the Goblin Rebellions as if he was in front of a whole classroom.

"Has he always been like that?" Mike asked, thinking that it was no wonder people didn't like History of Magic if that was the case. Professor Vector nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Even when I was a student he talked like that. I never enjoyed the subject, found it hard to stay awake most days. It seems students these days are just the same. Would you care for a game of chess, Professor Smitt?" She indicated a chess board on a nearby table.

Smiling, Mike settled himself in a chair. "I'd love one," he said. "And please, we're work colleagues. Call me Mike."

They played several games of chess, during which they discussed the upcoming Tri-Wizard tournament ("Ought to be a lot of fun, from what I've read, Septima.") and various teaching methods ("Personally, I find it's best to set essays. Keep them on their toes, you know. Checkmate, Mike.") before Septima had to leave to give an Arithmancy class.

"Perhaps you could put together a plan for your first lesson tomorrow?" she suggested as she gathered up her things and moved towards the door. Mike nodded, already thinking about the course topic for the individual years.

000

"I still don't see how he could make it any more _interesting_," Ron said as he, Harry and Hermione climbed the stairs on the way to their period one History of Magic lesson. "I mean, of course Binns was a _nightmare_ of a teacher, but the subject was boring anyway. I read my notes and I don't see the point."

"Maybe if you try to pay attention then you'll find it more interesting," Hermione said as they turned a corner. "Really, some of the things we learn about are quite fascinating. Like Giant Wars, or elf enslavement. I was reading up on the history of elves and-"

"Will you shut up about the stupid House Elves!" Ron groaned.

"No I will not, Ron!"

"We're here," Harry interrupted, coming to a stop outside classroom 16. Apparantly, Professor Smitt had found the old classroom 4F 'too gloomy' and had requested a change. They were now going to be in a light, airy room which faced onto the lake. Harry pushed the door open and the three of them stepped inside.

At the back of the room a group of Slytherins were sitting, Draco Malfoy in the midst of them. He looked up at the three's entrance and muttered something which made the Slytherins laugh. With a stern look along the lines of 'ignore them', Hermione moved down to sit at the front of the room. The rest of the Gryffindors were already there, most looking apprehensive. Seamus Finnegan had already slouched over the desk in preparation for another long lecture. Parvatti Patil was reading a copy of Witch Weekly while her best friend Lavender Brown was curling her eyelashes around her wand. Neville Longbottom was looking nervous.

"Hello," he said when Harry sat next to him. "What do you think we're going to be learning about this year?"

"No idea," Harry shrugged, taking out his books. "I just want to know whether or not this Smitt guy will be better than Binns."

"Can't be worse than Binns," Ron said, shaking his head. "_Anybody's_ better than Binns."

"Hey Weasley," Draco Malfoy called from behind him. "What do you think-" But Malfoy's snide remarks were interrupted by the door opening with a loud bang and a man overladen with books staggering into the room. All the students watched as he tottered to the front of the class, then thumped the texts down onto the desk. Professor Smitt looked just as odd as he did at the start of year feast, with spiked hair, tattoos, and piercings shining in the light from the windows. He grinned round at all of them.

"Everybody here?" he said, counting everybody in the room. "Very good, let's go. My name is Professor Smitt. You can call me Smitt, Professor, Smitty, Michael, Mike, Mikey, that git over there, or anything else you think of at the time. I don't really mind, so long as you still hand in your homework. Now, I am aware that your previous teacher didn't exactly _engage_ with you in this subject. Let me tell you, that is all going to change. Welcome to History of Magic, your soon to be _favourite_ subject. Please don't talk during my class or I shall have to take several points from whatever house you are in, Mr Blonde-Haired-Person."

There were a few titters from the Gryffindors as Malfoy, who had been whispering something to Goyle, shut his mouth with a start. Grinning, Professor Smitt picked up a piece of chalk and started writing on the blackboard in large, curling letters. As he did so, Harry Ron and Hermione all exchanged glances. This guy was more interesting than Professor Binns, that was for sure.


	6. In Which Delight Precedes A Dilemma

**Back from camping. Here's another chapter. Gotta say a few things first.**

**1. This song is (in my head) to the tune of 'Gay Pirates' by Cosmo Jarvis. If you haven't heard that song then google it. Seriously. It's probably the best song in the world.**

**2. I have no clue what dates are actually used in the Goblin Riots, so I'm making them up. If you have any suggestions, I'd be too happy to hear them. Always fun to hear what other people think about history in the HP universe.**

**3. As always, if you have any comments/feedback/criticism, I'd love to hear it.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: If your name is Sebastian, you're required by law to either: get a job related to the sea, be a homosexual, or both.<strong>

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><p>"Now, you're expected to remember all the names of the goblin rebellion leaders as well as the dates of important events, but really the dates are more important. All the goblin leaders have names like Urg the Unclean and Elfric the Eager, so you can make most of them up and have about a 40% chance of getting them right." Grinning at the surprised look on Ron's face and the scandalised look on Hermione's, Mike walked round to behind his desk and pulled out a guitar. He had been at Hogwarts for a week now and he'd gotten to know most of his students by their first name. He had also been waiting for a week to get out his guitar. The last lessons had all been spent going over the previous years' work with every class because only a few of them could remember <em>any<em> of the content. He was finally starting the Goblin Rebellions with his fourth years and he was _determined_ that they would remember it.

"Okay then," Mike said, strumming for a second and sitting on his desk. "I wrote this song when I was about your age. It's just a little overview of the goblin rebellions and it throws in a few dates and names. Should just give you a brief taste of this subject before we launch right into it. You can laugh, Blaise, but this song helped me get an outstanding in my History of Magic OWL, so I suggest you pay attention or at least shut up and let everyone else pay attention. Not all of us have the ability to remember everything we read, like Hermione here."

From his seat in the front row, Harry turned and saw Hermione turn bright crimson before hiding her face in her hands. She had been one of the few to remember the previous year's work.

Meanwhile, Mike strummed a light tune on the guitar, tapping a foot against his desk as he did so. After a few bar's intro, he started singing in a smooth baritone.

"Back in the sixteenth century  
>The Goblins felt quite pissed.<br>They wanted wands, and jobs, and rights,  
>But the ministry was remiss.<br>Wanted equality  
>But the ministry said 'No.'<p>

They said 'You're magical creatures  
>"You don't deserve our shit.'<br>They said they wouldn't give in  
>Oh, want a bunch of bigots<br>And of equality  
>The ministry said "No"<br>To the goblins so...

They said, 'Let's go comrades!  
>'Take your swords in hand,<br>'No more will we be left to feel sad!'  
>And Elfric the Eager<br>He stirred them up no end.  
>Said 'We deserve much better than we've had!'<p>

In April of 1612  
>A group took refuge in<br>Hogsmeade town just down the way  
>At the Three Broomsticks Inn.<br>They took action that year  
>And the death toll was high,<p>

But the ministry still refused  
>To give anything away,<br>They merely swept the bodies up  
>On that cold, dismal day.<br>There was action that year  
>And the death toll was high,<br>But they let it fly.

And then Urg the Unclean  
>He said, 'We can't delay.<br>Let's show them the business that we mean!'  
>And Bodrod the Bearded<br>And Sorf the Sordid too  
>Took arms with a group of seventeen.<p>

They stormed into London  
>In sixteen forty-one.<br>The ministry took action  
>But the damage had been done<br>Seventy four wizards dead  
>And muggles uncounted.<p>

And finally they admitted  
>Perhaps they had been wrong<br>To keep the goblins from the rights  
>They'd wanted for so long.<br>So, with seventy four wizards dead  
>And muggles uncounted<br>They relented.

And on the sixteenth of December  
>In sixteen fourty-three<br>The declaration was finally signed.  
>The goblins were given rights,<br>But not all had been met.  
>There had been losses on both sides.<p>

The jobs and houses were granted,  
>But wands were kept away.<br>The wizards thought to give them would be mad.  
>The goblins retaliated<br>Kept their metal secrets too  
>Said they deserved much better than they had.<br>They deserved much better than they'd had."

He finished with a long strumming of his guitar, then looked up. There was silence in the classroom. Mike coughed nervously, wondering if he'd gone for the guitar too early on in his teaching career. Then Neville started clapping. The rest of the Gryffindors took up the applause and, to Mike's great surprise, a few Slytherins did as well. He grinned and took a mock bow.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, I've never had such a positive response to my work."

"Where did you learn to play like that, sir?" Seamus Finnegan asked when the applause had died down. Mike winced at the use of 'sir' and snapped his guitar case closed.

"Oh, I just had a few lessons when I was a kid. Nothing special. Something I picked up." This wasn't really true. He had actually spent quite a few nights sitting up with a guitar and a chord book, trying to master the instrument without waking anybody up and driving himself half-crazy in the process. However, in Mike's opinion, it was always better if people thought he was a natural genius rather than just some twonk who got lucky. No need to let these kids know just how hard he had to work in order to become a mediocre musician. They could just sit there thinking that he was perfect for a little while longer.

He turned to the blackboard and started writing up dates. "Before we get into the whole shebang of the rebellions," he was saying as he wrote. "It's important you understand what was going on before that. Bear with me for a moment here. Imagine you're a goblin. You're a goblin in a world full of wizards. You are just as intelligent as wizards, you're even their superiors in several areas (most obvious one being metalwork), but you don't have their rights. You can't get the jobs they can, you can't live where they live, you can't do what they do. You can't even have something as simple as a wand. Now, raise your hands. Who'd be pissed?"

A few people in the room tentatively raised their hands.

"Very good. The rest of you are either lying or have no imagination. Of course you'd be pissed. You'd be _livid_. You'd be willing to go to any lengths to get treated with a bit of respect and that's exactly what the goblins did. Draco, what's your favourite possession?"

From the back row, Draco Malfoy looked up disinterestedly. "My broomstick?" he suggested with a shrug.

"Well then. Imagine you never had a broomstick, but every day you were forced to sit and watch a bunch of brats play around with their _own_ broomsticks. Kids with scraped knees and runny noses who don't even fly very well. They keep crashing into things and holding the handle wrong and generally making a complete cock up of the whole thing. You could do it much better. You want to have your own broomstick, but you can't. Then this one kid runs up and waves his own broomstick in your face. What might you do?" Mike had been walking around the classroom while he was saying this and had drawn to a stop in front of Draco's desk. The teacher leaned forward and blinked at the blonde boy, waiting for an answer. Draco looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. For the first time in his life he was unsure exactly how to act.

"Come on, Draco," said Mike encouragingly. "Some little twat has been bugging you and teasing you because he has something you really want but aren't allowed. He's shoving a Nimbus 2001 under your nose. What would you do?"

Draco glanced round at Pansy. She was too busy gaping at Professor Smitt to notice him, so a fat lot of good that did. On his other side was Crabbe and he was going to be even less help. He thought fast. He had never actually been denied anything in his entire life so he had no _clue_ how he'd react. But... Maybe _Weasley_ would do something. He must have been in plenty of situations like that. What would a Weasley do? "I... I'd grab the broom from him?"

"Very good! Five points for Slytherin. Yes, you'd grab the broom and maybe kick the kid in the shins a couple of times. That is what the Goblins did! Er, more or less. Now, everyone open their books. There's a rather nice passage on page 173 which I think explains things quite nicely..."

Wordlessly, Draco opened his textbook. A _squib_ (or a suspected squib anyway) had just gotten him, a _Malfoy_, to think about how a _Weasley_ would act. He felt dirty.

000

"You know," Ron said as they packed up their bags at the end of the day. "I never thought I'd say this, but History of Magic may be turning into one of my favourite subjects." He turned and looked at Professor Smitt who was chatting to Lavender and Parvatti at the front of the class. "I mean, he knows his stuff, doesn't he? And he actually makes it sound _interesting_ when he talks about goblins."

"I suppose it's all just a matter of presentation, isn't it?" said Hermione, walking out of the classroom. "If somebody presents a subject in an engaging way you're more likely to take it in, aren't you?"

"Still, Binns isn't exactly a hard act to follow, is he?" said Harry. "Come on. We've got to get to Transfiguration."

000

Mike finished his lessons that day and dragged himself back to his office. He was feeling decidedly sluggish for a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on and had only just been able to get through his last lesson of the day. With a sigh, he slumped down into the chair behind his desk and looked around him. Why was he feeling so off colour recently? He should be over the moon. He was a teacher at _Hogwarts_, the school he'd dreamed about since he was a kid. He spent every day doing what he loved with kids who thought he was the best teacher ever. He had money, a home. He had everything he could ever need and more. He even had another way to pick up girls, what with the title of professor.

That was when it hit him.

Mike hadn't had sex in four weeks.

"Oh fuck!" he groaned, mashing his palm into his forehead. That was why he felt so bad, wasn't it? He hadn't screwed anyone in four weeks and his body was starting to protest. He was used to having a little night-time entertainment every couple of days, what with the constant supply of different women coming through the bar each day. Now that he was stuck up in the castle, he didn't get that. All that was available to him were teachers or students.

He slouched forward, wondering what he could do. Teachers were out. Mike had certain rules about these things and one of them was that he didn't touch co-workers. It would be too awkward having to see them the next day. Students were _definitely_ out. For one thing, he couldn't maintain a professional relationship with someone he'd seen naked. How could he tell somebody about the life of Merlin if she'd been screaming 'Merlin' the previous night? Then there was the fact that it was _illegal_. He wasn't about to risk the most enjoyable, best paying, most rewarding job he'd ever had. Not even for the sexiest student with the prettiest eyes. There was always Hogsmeade, but the first trip was a while away yet and he didn't know how long he'd be able to last. No, he needed something immediate, but what?

Mike laced his fingers together and hunched over the desk. _Think_. What had he done _before_ he first had a girlfriend? It was so long ago, he could barely remember. Something... It was called...

"Masturbation," he said slowly, getting to his feet. "Yeah... Uh... I think I can still remember how to... Maybe. Um... Let's see. I think I have some magazines somewhere."

000

Mike sat on the edge of his bed, eyes wide, hands clasped together. His attempt at _entertaining_ himself wasn't... Well, it hadn't been... It was... Hell, it had been _weird_. It seemed that after the many nights with other people it now felt _wrong_ for Mike to give it to himself. Just when things started to get enjoyable, he thought something along the lines of 'This hand scoops breakfast cereal into my mouth each morning'. Once that thought was in his brain, it got louder and louder until all he could think of was cornflakes and, since they were perhaps the least arousing thing in the _world_, he found it a bit hard to keep going. After several disastrous attempts, he had reached the conclusion that his brain was completely fucked up and decided to stop trying. So, Michael Smitt was now sitting on the end of his bed feeling utterly at a loss.

His hands shook as he reached for a jug of water which had been placed on his bedside table. He poured himself a glass of the cool, clear liquid then took a sip. He needed to collect his thoughts. He needed to work out what he could do. He needed a plan B.

The room was perfectly still for ten seconds.

Then, wordlessly, Mike raised the glass and emptied the contents over his head. He gasped at the cold water rushing down the back of his neck. Shakily, he got to his feet and made his way over to the en suite bathroom.

"Plan B: fucking cold showers every day until that Hogsmeade visit," he muttered to himself. "Can't be that far away, can it? I'll survive. I'd _better_ survive."


	7. In Which Alcohol Is Consumed

**Couldn't sleep. Wrote the next chapter instead.**

**Whoever gets the 'My Immortal' reference gets five points.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: The only animals who should be treated like this are Blast-Ended Skrewts and Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way.<strong>

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><p>Hagrid had been preparing more frogs livers for the Blast-Ended Skrewts when there came a knock on his cabin door. He had opened it to find a very dishevelled Michael Smitt slumping against the door-frame, looking a bit bewildered. He had had started talking a mile a minute about something Hagrid hadn't quite been able to follow but which involved a lot of arm waving and something to do with cornflakes. Bewildered, Hagrid had invited the other man in and offered him a drink which had been accepted a little to readily for that early in the day. Mike had been hunched over the table with a large tankard of mead for several hours and, mercifully, the talking had stopped. For the past half hour, Hagrid's small cabin had been silent save for the ticking of the clock on the mantle piece and the panting of Fang, Hagrid's pet boarhound.<p>

"Have you ever had a foursome?"

The question was so unexpected that Hagrid dropped his own, empty tankard onto the floor with a clatter. He bent hastily to pick it up. "Er... No, Mike. I haven't. Er-"

"I have." Mike's voice was slurred due to the all of the mead and he was speaking more to his tankard than to Hagrid. "'Bout a year ago. I was curious and I asked these girls if they fancied one. They said alright, so we went to this one girl's house and... Yeah. Foursomes."

"Oh, er..." Hagrid flailed about for a response, feeling his face reddening. "Wha' was it like?"

Mike thought for a moment, taking a large gulp of mead as he did so. "It wasn't actually that great," he admitted. "The bed was too small and I kept wondering whether or not any of them were getting too bored. My mind was on too many other things to actually enjoy myself. It was... I was just doing it for an experiment, y'know? Wanted to know if I could get girls to do it. And I could."

He hunched forward slightly, wondering why the table was moving so much. "Hagrid?'

"Yeah?"

"You ever..." (He gave a small hiccup.) "You ever look at a guy in the street and think, 'That guy is lucky'? You know think, 'He has all these things going for him. He's handsome. He's smart. He's got all the ladies. What I wouldn't give to be that guy.' Y'ever thought that?"

"Er... I think I mighta done. Once. Why?"

"Because-" (Mike hiccuped again and took another glug of mead.) "Because I _am_ that guy, Hagrid. I _am_ that guy people want to be. I _am_ the guy everyone envies. I am _smart_ and _handsome_ and I have _all_ the girls I could _ever_ want."

Hagrid looked round and couldn't help but doubt these words. At that moment, Mike was slouched over the table, had a glassy look in his eyes, and was clutching his drink like it was his baby. His skin was a sickly pale colour, his hair seemed greasy and unkempt, every so often he would give out a weak hiccup. An overly pointed nose jutted out from a narrow face which was covered in a light spray of stubble. He had the build of an emaciated twig and the ears of an elephant. He had just spent several hours talking to Hagrid about puffskeins which were "so small and fluffy but didn't have any natural predators. Isn't that weird? Because they look like candyfloss, something must think they're tasty. You know, 'cos candyfloss is _really_ tasty. Don't you love candyfloss? I do. Actually, Cornwall Candyfloss would be a cool name for a quidditch team. They could wear fluffy hats." In short, Michael didn't seem particularly smart or handsome just then and Hagrid didn't envy him. He didn't think _anybody_ would envy him, actually. Also, he was finding it very difficult to believe that any girl would find him attractive enough to sleep with.

"People don't know how hard it is for me," Mike was saying, waving a finger in the air. Hagrid noticed that he had letters on the back of his fingers, another thing he didn't feel particularly jealous about. "I can make girls do whatever I want. I just say, 'you wanna have sex' and they say 'yeah' and then we do. It gets boring, you know? And... And sometimes their boyfriends beat me up, which isn't nice. But that's not important. What's importoant is that I am too sexy for my own good. I can't be friends with a woman. The sexual desires get in the way, you know? Sorta like... Sorta like this barrier of friendship made of... Made of fucking... ness." He hiccuped again.

"I'm just too perfect," he said morosely. "I'm too good at these things. Why can't I just be _normal?_ It's a fucking _curse_ is what is it. It's a fucking curse when you fuck as well as I do. Because... Because I need sex to function Hagrid."

He looked up, his eyebrows furrowed together over his eyes, and thumped the table. "Hagrid. I haven't had sex in almost two months. I'm gonna _die_, Hagrid. I think- Oh, I'm out of mead. C- Could I have another cup? Just a little one."

Mike held out his tankard, a hopeful smile on his face, but Hagrid had heard a bit too much. "No, I think yeh've had enough, Mike," he said, getting to his feet and walking round the table. "Perhaps yeh should go up ter the castle and see if Professor Snape'll fix yeh a sobering draught."

Mike looked up at him, blinking slowly. "Why do I need a sobering draught? I'm fine. I'm fine. I just- I'm thirsty. I'll just stay here a little while longer, talking to you. You're my friend and I wanna talk to you."

"We've got ter get back in a minute anyway," Hagrid said, pulling the limp History of Magic teacher to his feet. "That lot from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang'll be turnin' up. We gotta meet 'em with the rest of the teachers."

"I'll meet them. I'll just stay here for a little while. Just a little- I have things to do Hagrid. I have things to do. I have a problem that needs fixed."

"Yeah, yeh're too good with women."

"No. No no. That's not it. I need to get laid, Hagrid. But I can't screw a student 'cos that's wrong. No students. And no teachers. I have certain _rules_ about these things and one of them is I don't have sex with work colleagues."

"Well, why don't yeh go ter Hogsmeade?"

"I _will_. I'm gonna go on the first weekend I can, but that's not for another few weeks."

"Yeah, for the _students_. But yeh're a _teacher_, Mike. Yeh can go whenever yeh like."

"Oh... Really? I didn't... I didn't know that... Hagrid you're a very good person. A very _very_ good person. I hope you get a lot of sex 'cos you deserve it. You really do. Where are we going?" Hagrid was steering Mike out of his cabin and into the fresh air. A wave of cold hit Mike and he tottered slightly, grabbing onto Hagrid's arm for support. as they crossed the garden, something caught Michael's eye and he pointed.

"What's in the crates, Hagrid?" he asked. Hagrid looked over and grinned. Maybe he could delay just a moment and go show Mike the skrewts.

"These're the Blast-Ended Skrewts I mentioned. My fourth years're raising 'em. Look." He opened the large crate and revealed a couple of the small, slimy, lobster-like Skrewts. Mike looked in with interest. He'd never seen anything like them, how _fascinating_. He opened his mouth to ask what the stinger was for, then felt his stomach gave a lurch. Eyes bugging out, he leaned forward, clutching at his stomach. For a few seconds he struggled, forcing the acidic liquid back down his gullet. When the danger had passed, he sighed. Throwing up on a friend's pet was _never_ a good thing. Then, just when he thought he was in the clear, Mike's mouth opened and a stream of vomit poured up his throat, out of his mouth, through the air, and straight onto the largest Blast-Ended Skrewt in the box.

As soon as the vomit made contact with the Skrewt, there was a loud hissing noise and the liquid began to fizz uncontrollably. The creature which had been hit gave a high-pitched squeal and crumpled in on itself, legs writhing. It's sting twitched helplessly. The other Skrewts backed away in fear. It seemed that vomit or alcohol or perhaps a mixture of the two was highly corrosive to the flesh of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. This one, who had been fine a few moments before, was now a quivering mess of brown sludge. The others were running around frantically, banging into each other and occassionally ripping each other apart in the frenzy.

"Oh God, I'm sorry Hagrid," Mike groaned, clutching at his mouth. "I- I think I'd better go to the castle and-" Before he could finish his sentence, another wave of nausea hit him and he gagged. Hurriedly, Hagrid turned him away from the crates and to his flower bed instead. The earth got a splattering of sick, then Mike collapsed.

000

When he came to, Mike found himself looking at a pale, sickly face with dark eyes, all framed by long black hair. He blinked for a second, then recognised the potions master, Severus Snape. He grinned, but Snape did not return it.

"Here," the man said, thrusting a glass of of something green under Mike's nose. It smelt faintly of lemons. "It is a sobering draught. I suggest you drink it."

Dumbly, Mike took the glass and gulped down its contents. It felt warm and sweet going down his throat, almost like that honey and lemon drink Michael drank when he had a cold. After a moment, a tingling sensation started in the pit of his stomach, then spread out to the rest of his body. Mike giggled slightly at the sensation, then felt as though something was kicking his brain. After a few seconds, his mind cleared, the room stopped moving, and Mike became perfectly aware of what was going on around him. He also became perfectly aware of what he was covered in.

"Aw, hell! I must have collapsed and landed face-first in my own sick!" Mike's entire chest and neck was coated in a sheen of his own bodily fluid. The shirt and tie which he had put on specially for the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had gone a strange, motley green colour due to the layer of vomit. The acidic smell was starting to become quite revolting. He didn't even want to know what it must have been like for Snape to see him. Or for Hagrid to carry him up to the castle.

"Scourgify," Snape said, pointing his wand at Mike's face.

"Thanks, you're a diamond," Mike said, getting to his feet. "How long've I been out? And where's Hagrid?"

"Professor Hagrid has returned to see to something at his cabin," Snape said, sweeping around his office and returning bottles to various cupboards. "Something about vomit being corrosive, I did not hear the details. And you were unconscious for ten minutes."

Mike gave an impressed whistle. "Wow, you were able to knock me up a sobering draught in ten minutes? You're quite something."

Snape cast Mike a withering look and said, "The headmaster suggested that I keep a sobering draught brewed at all times. Apparently your previous employer recommended it. Its effects will only last for a few hours, so I suggest returning to your office as soon as the feast tonight has ended. Tomorrow you may experience headaches, nausea, sensitivity to light, thirst-"

"So basically, I might get a hangover," Mike interrupted. "Only to be expected, I guess. I think I drank a whole bottle of that mead. Well either way, you're dead kind. I owe you one." He glanced at his watch. "Shit, we're meant to be meeting the other schools. Sorry I held you up, Sev. We'd better hurry, come on."

000

"Excuse me," Mike whispered, sliding into place in the line of teachers. "Hello Mad-Eye. What's shaking?" The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor gave a gruff nod, his magical eye scanning the surrounding crowds. Mike grinned. There was something about Mad-eye Moody which he found enjoyable. It was probably the strong-but-silent personality of his, or maybe the constant remarks about 'Constant vigilance' which were always amusing. Then there was the magical eye which could apparently see through things. Mike had been working up the courage to ask if Mad-Eye had ever looked through girl's clothes. Mike knew that'd be the first thing _he'd_ do if _he_ had a magical eye, but he wasn't sure if Mad-Eye was that kind of bloke.

"Aha!" Dumbledore called from Mike's left, making him look away from Moody's face. "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" Mike said, looking round. He hadn't seen anything. Were they coming on the school train? He felt a nudge in his side and turned to see Moody pointing to the sky. Mike looked up and saw a large, dark shape flying towards the school. He heard a first year girl cry about it being a dragon. Then a boy said it was a flying house. They were both wrong. A huge carriage with (Mike counted hurriedly) twelve huge horses hurtled down to the ground. For a moment, it looked like it was about to flip over, then it came to a jerky stop.

Mike watched with interest as a boy opened the door, then his eyebrows shot upwards as the largest woman he'd ever seen got out of the coach. She was very handsome, with dark eyes and dark hair. She was wearing a glittering dress and had opals around her neck. As he watched her approach Dumbledore, Mike's mind started clicking things together. Hagrid had been very kind to him that day and Mike wanted to do a kindness for him in return. The sight of this woman had given him some ideas. Yes... Yes, he had an idea of what he could do for Hagrid. Surreptitiously, Mike stood on his tiptoes to check if this woman was wearing a wedding ring. None that he could see. Great. One less obstacle to worry about.


	8. In Which Mike Takes On Several Tasks

**I have stayed up all night listening to music on YouTube. The end result is that I have the next three chapters all good to go, but I can't stop singing to myself. _I wanna be, wanna be, wanna be, wanna be, wanna be, wanna be pretty!_ The following video should be watched. Give your ears an orgasm.**

**www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=GLjDgqSVps8**

**I hope you like this chapter. As always, feedback is more than welcome.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Doc Martens are not good sneaking around shoes, but they can be dropped out of windows easily enough.<strong>

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><p>The Goblet of Fire, a wooden cup full of dancing blue-white flames, had been placed on a stool in the middle of the entrance hall. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction. Mike had been on his way out to Hogsmeade, but had stopped to examine the goblet. It was really rather interesting. So was the age line, which he took great delight in hopping over every so often, just to prove he was of age.<p>

"Excuse me," a terse voice said, making Mike turn. He found himself face to face with the tall, goateed headmaster of Durmstrang, Igor Karkaroff. Behind him were a line of students wearing blood-red, obviously waiting to put their names into the goblet. Realising that he was in the way, Mike grinned and stepped to the side.

"Viktor, you put your name in first," Karkaroff said, ushering one of his students forward. With a jolt of surprise, Mike recognised Viktor Krum, the young seeker for the Bulgarian quidditch team. His nephew, Lewis, had a poster of him pinned up in his bedroom. Well, this was certainly something to write home about. Mike stood back and watched with interest as the twelve Durmstrang students stepped up and placed their names into the goblet. He smiled at a fat boy at the end, who was casting nervous looks about him as he stepped up to the goblet. Karkaroff barked something in a foreign language which, to Mike, sounded vaguely... Well, it sounded like a bunch of sounds. He wasn't big on languages. Scandinavian? Perhaps? Yeah, he'd once had a Norwegian girlfriend and she'd sounded a bit like that. Or had she been Icelandic?

"Norwegian," Mike decided, walking into the Great Hall. He needed breakfast first, then he'd go into Hogsmeade and pick someone up. He'd _definitely_ need some energy if he was going to do it _this_ early in the morning. He needed to be back in time for the feast, so he had to be done by five at the latest. Because he'd have to start early, it meant he couldn't rely on _alcohol_ so much, which meant that he'd have to be on his toes a bit more. Sober girls are slightly harder to chat up than drunk girls. Of course, Mike found both remarkably easy. He had actually been telling the truth the other day when talking to Hagrid. Mike _did_ just have to snap his fingers and girls would come running. It was a talent. A useful talent. Like contortionists or those people who could turn their eyelids inside-out.

"Good morning, Michael," Professor Dumbledore said as Mike passed. "I have something I'd like to talk to you about. Could you see me after you have your breakfast?"

"Sure," Mike nodded. "I was just gonna get some toast." As he said this, Mike reached out and plucked a mountain of buttered toast from the headmaster's left elbow. Shoving a triangle into his mouth, he indicated with his finger that he could go now if need be. Dumbledore got to his feet, paused as Mike took a swig of pumpkin juice from a nearby pitcher, then the two teachers left the Great Hall. Just as they stepped through the large doors, two red-haired boys were jumping over the age-line. Mike stopped to watch.

As he stood in place, there was a loud sizzling noise and the two boys were hurled back out of the circle to land in an undignified heap on the flagstones. Mike sniggered, then let out a roar of mirth as, with a loud popping, both boys sprouted identical, long white beards. Soggy flecks of bread splattered his shirt, but he didn't care.

"I did warn you," Dumbledore said in an amused voice, walking over to the two of them. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little, too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours." Mike stood just behind the headmaster, stuffing his fist into his mouth to stifle his giggles. He managed to grin and flash a thumbs up at the twins who he guessed were the Fred and George Weasley who Hagrid had mentioned on his first morning there. They _did_ look like Ron and Ginny, the only Weasleys in his classes. Red hair and freckles and everything... Wait, had Dumbledore been walking? He had. Dammit.

Shoving more toast into his mouth, Mike scuttled up the stairs after the headmaster. He wondered dimly just what it was that they were going to talk about and hoped it wouldn't take long. He really needed to get into Hogsmeade _quickly_. Maybe he wanted to talk about Mike's conduct. Mike supposed that going to Hagrid's house yesterday and getting completely shit-faced when he knew he had to meet up with the other schools in a few hours hadn't been the _wisest_ thing he'd ever done (especially since he had a headache now). And he guessed that maybe a few students could have seen their Care of Magical Creatures teacher carrying an unconscious, vomit-coated History of Magic teacher through the halls. That might have raised some questions about Mike's suitability for Hogwarts, too. Then, he had been a bit free with his language in most of his classes. Hmm...

"Am I getting fired?" he asked when his last piece of toast had been finished and they were standing outside a gargoyle on the second floor. "Because I really think I can improve my conduct. I'm actually taking steps to getting more collected about things and-"

"You're not getting fired Michael," Dumbledore smiled. "Whatever gave you that idea? Sugar quill." The stone gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside, revealing a moving staircase. Mike raised an eyebrow at this, then hopped on quickly as the gargoyle started moving back into position.

"Well then, if I'm not getting fired, then what'd you want to talk to me about?" Mike asked jovially, wiping a smear of butter from his face. Up until that point, when an employer had wanted to talk to him it had been to say something along the lines of: 'your services are no longer required' or 'that woman you were with last night was my wife' or 'that woman you were with last night was my wife _and_ your services are no longer required now get out of here before I hex you'. That's how it had been at the shoe shop, the car wash, the library, the train station, the other shoe shop, and at the muggle restaurant in Edinburgh. Only Tom at the Leaky Cauldron had ever talked to Mike for a friendly chat. The fact that he wasn't being fired threw Mike a little bit.

They entered Dumbledore's office which was filled with little tables, displaying delicate silver instruments. Mike bent over one particularly interesting one which had several legs and was making a ticking noise whilst giving off puffs of smoke. He was just about to poke one of the pipes which was the source of the smoke when Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly and he jerked upright.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you, Mike," Dumbledore was saying, opening a drawer on his desk and pulling out a folder. "Is that I'd like you to do something for the Triwizard tournament."

"Sure, name it," Mike said, sitting in the chair opposite him. A large phoenix eyed him, unnerving him slightly.

Dumbledore pushed the folder across the desk. "You see, it is the tradition that every year, on Christmas Eve, there is a Yule Ball. The champions of the three schools open the ball with their partners and it gives the students a chance to relax and socialise."

Mike nodded, picking up the folder. He didn't quite get what Dumbledore wanted.

"You see, I need somebody to organise the event," the headmaster said, seeming to read Mike's mind. "I need somebody to put together decorations, menus, and music. I've been thinking for some time and I think _you_ would be perfect for the job. I think that you are the most qualified of all the staff members to say what the students will find most enjoyable. That and, uh, you have the most spare time due to not teaching any NEWT classes. Although, I believe a few students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be taking History of Magic so a few of your spare hours will go."

He looked up with a smile and found Mike staring back at him with his mouth hanging open. The boy's mouth opened and closed several times and he emitted a quiet gurgling sound. Calmly, Dumbledore folded his hands and waited for Mike to get his bearings.

Eventually, Mike choked out, "Are you sure, sir? I- I mean, of course I'd _love_ to, but- Well, what if I completely fuck things up? Er, sorry."

"Language such as that doesn't hurt me," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. "And I have the fullest confidence in you. I put together a few pieces of information for you. Several prominent musicians have expressed interest in playing. I have received letters from the Warblers, Spellbound, Celestina Warbeck..."

"What about the Weird Sisters?" Mike asked, shifting through the folder. Dumbledore shook his head.

"I _knew_ there was somebody I forgot," he said. "And of course I've heard students mentioning the Weird Sisters plenty of times, silly of me really. You see, that's why I thought of _you_, you're more knowledgeable about these things than I. Well, I'll leave it to you, Mike. I'm sure you'll do fine."

Mike was still leafing through the contents of the folder when he got to his feet and walked towards the door. He was just about to leave the office when he noticed a dark object on a shelf. Remembering Septima's suggestion at the opening feast, he pointed to it. "Hey, Professor Dumbledore. You wouldn't mind if I tried on the sorting hat, would you?"

"Oh, no of course not. Try not to mess up your hair of course."

Grinning, Mike grabbed the hat and placed it carefully on his head, making sure that it touched his skull without dislodging any of his carefully set spikes.

_"Vanity_,_"_ the hat said almost immediately, making Mike jump. It was weird having another voice in his mind. _"Plenty of vanity."_

_"I prefer the term 'taking pride in my appearance'_,_"_ Mike replied pointedly.

_"A little intelligence,"_ the hat continued, completely ignoring Mike's thoughts.

_"Excuse _me_. I got _nine_ outstanding OWLs. And I could've got _seven_ NEWTs if I-"_

_"Deceiving nature. Shallowness. Cowardice. Inability to masturbate-"_

_"That's personal!"_ Mike glanced round to double check that Dumbledore couldn't hear any of this. He knew this was all just inside his head, but he wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore turned out to be telepathic. _"Look, could you just stop dicking around and tell me what house I'll go in? Gryffindor, yeah? Or Ravenclaw? You said I was intelligent, you can't take that back. Plus I've got street smarts, they should count."_

_"Hmm... Impatience too. Well, this is the first time I've sorted a squib, but I suppose if you actually _were_ a wizard then I'd have no choice but to put you in_ HUFFLEPUFF!"

Mike yanked the hat off of his head and thrust it back onto its shelf. "Piece of shit," he muttered, striding out of the room. "It knows _damn_ well I'm a Ravenclaw."

000

At half-past five that evening, a very relaxed Professor Smitt strolled into the Great Hall and took his place at the Staff Table. It had been a _very_ good day. Mike had only expected to get _one_ girl and had set his sights on a young, curvy red-head who had been sitting by the bar. However, it seemed he had underestimated the 'Power of the Professor' as he was now calling it. It seemed that girls were _really_ into the intellectual types. All he had to do was mention a few books, a couple of famous historical wizards and it was in the bag. Less than three hours later he was back in the Three Broomsticks having left Mary (he _thought_ that was her name: Mary Strauth) fast asleep in her rented room upstairs. A quick lunch, then he had been about to leave when he had spotted a girl wearing a Falmouth Falcons badge. It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

"Sometimes these things are just too _easy_," he had thought when he'd dropped his shoes out of the window, then climbed after them. He couldn't go out into the hall because he might have met Mary again. He had certain _rules_ about these things and one of them was that he didn't hang around to see one-off-sexual-partners after the one-off sex. Still, he had gotten away and was ready for a night of food. His day's activity had left him really quite peckish.

A shadow fell over him and Mike looked up, opening his mouth to say hello to Hagrid. He froze in position at the sight of him. The man was wearing a rather horrible brown suit along with a checked yellow and orange tie. As well as this, his mass of brown hair had been coated in a thick grease, perhaps in an attempt to smooth it down, then been pulled into two bunches. The image was so _hideous_ that Mike was at a loss for words. Instead, he turned to see what Hagrid was looking at and saw Madame Maxime settling herself into her seat. Right, so Hagrid was definitely into her. Great, another obstacle down. Mike wouldn't have to spend time convincing Hagrid that he should be going after someone. Unfortunately, he seemed to be... How should he put this? Lacking finesse.

"Hello, Hagrid," Mike said when the other teacher had sat down. "Um... How are the Skrewts?"

"Oh, they're fine," Hagrid said. "But I think that vomit incident drove 'em loopy. They've started killin' each other now. I had to put 'em in separate boxes.'

Mike squirmed at the news that his drunkenness had lead to the death of more skrewts. He couldn't actually recall what the things looked like, pretty much everything was a haze after his second tankard of mead. All he could remember was vomiting into a flower bed. However, if Hagrid liked the Skrewts then they couldn't be _too_ bad. Certainly not worth vomiting over.

"You seem better," Hagrid remarked as food appearred on the table. "Did yeh, er... Did yeh go ter Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did. I owe you one for telling me about it, you know."

"S'no trouble," Hagrid said, waiving his hand.

"No, Hagrid. Please. You're a good person. Listen, you're lending me an ear and some mead and some advice helped to get me laid. I want to return the favour." Mike turned and grabbed Hagrid's arm. Lowering his voice so as not to embarrass him, he murmured, "Hagrid, I'm gonna help get _you_ laid too. I swear, whatever talent I possess I will try and teach it to you." He gave Hagrid a long, determined look to send the message home, then patted him on the arm and sat back down.

Hagrid seemed flustered. "Er... That's kind o' yeh, Mike. But, I think I'm alright. I've been talkin' to Madame Maxime, yeh see."

"Hagrid," said Mike, holding up a hand to silence him. "Before you say anything, can I just say something? I think it's _great_ you're talking to Madame Maxime. I'm sure you don't need my help there. I'm just gonna say that next time... Next time, maybe you could lose the tie. And the coat. And maybe the hairstyle. Actually, next time you're thinking of asking Madame Maxime out, I can come down and help you out. That'll be my returning the favour."

"Oh, what's wrong wi' my outfit?" he asked, turning pink and looking at himself.

"Nothing," Mike said soothingly. "It's a lovely suit. Unfortunately, Madame Maxime is a _woman_. And what's more, she's _French_. Those people demand _excellence_. But I will help you _achieve_ excellence. Cauliflower?"

000

The feast was over and all the candles had been extinguished. The only light in the hall was coming from the goblet of Fire, standing in front of the Staff table. Mike leaned forward eagerly. His tongue caught in his throat and he waited on tenterhooks for the champions to be announced.

Suddenly, the flames inside the Goblet turned red and sparks started flying from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, sending out a charred piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it from the air and held it out to the light of the flames.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

Mike gave a whoop as Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up the room and through into the next chamber. Of _course_ Viktor Krum would be the champion. No surprises there.

When the clapping died down, Mike leaned back towards the Goblet. Who'd be next? The flames turned red, a piece of parchment flew out and was caught by the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Mike clapped, then felt his eyes popping as a pretty girl with silvery blonde hair got to her feet. Of course _she'd_ be from the French school, wouldn't she? Attractive, lithe, nubile, young French girl. Almost a cliché, really. Mike watched her move down the hall and through into the next chamber, quite mesmerised by the sway of her hips, then reminded himself sternly that he was a _teacher_. This Fleur Delacour girl was a _student_ and he had certain _rules_ about these things. _No students!_ Not even very _very VERY_ pretty ones.

Shaking his head to get rid of those dangerous thoughts, Mike turned back to the Goblet. The _Hogwarts_ champion. The third piece of parchment shot out of the dancing red flames.

"The Hogwarts champion is Cedric diggory!"

There was a loud cheer from the Hufflepuff table as a tall, dark haired boy got to his feet and moved off. As he applauded, Mike conceded that maybe Hufflepuff wasn't _so_ bad if it was able to provide a Hogwarts champion. The applause went on for quite a while, before dying down. Dumbledore started to address the rest of the students, but was cut off mid-sentence.

The Goblet of Fire turned red again, sending sparks flying. A piece of parchment was thrown out into the air and was caught by Dumbledore. Mike glanced round to see if this made sense to anybody. Why would there be a fourth piece of parchment? They'd already had all the champions. Everyone in the hall, including Dumbledore, was wearing expressions of confusion.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out, "Harry Potter."


	9. In Which There Are Dragons

**About the last chapter. I accidentally put the link to the live performance, instead of just the recording. It's changed now. Not that the live one doesn't kick proverbial rear-end, it's just probably not the best thing to watch if you're not already an MSI fan. Oh well, I love both videos.**

**Now onto the chapter. Feedback would be greatly appreciated yadda yadda yadda.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Always treat your magical elf slaves with respect. You never know when you might get locked in an evil wizard's basement and need rescuing.<strong>

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><p><em>Well, this won't do any good,<em> Mike thought as Harry got to his feet and shuffled up to the staff table. _First he's 'The Boy Who Lived', now he's gonna be 'The Fourth Champion' or something. Poor kid. Something fucked up's going on here. Something's up with that Goblet._

He watched Harry move off into the second chamber, then looked out round at the Hall. Nobody had applauded Harry, and they were now all muttering darkly to each other. Mike sucked on his lip ring, something he always did when he felt uncomfortable. Beside him, Hagrid was looking thunderstruck. Down the table, Dumbledore was saying something to professor McGonagall.

"Silence, please," the headmaster said, getting to his feet. "I am aware that this is a most _irregular_ occurrence. If you could all return to your dormitories, the teachers and judges shall sort this out. You will be notified of what is happening tomorrow morning. Goodnight to you all."

Dumbledore turned and, along with the other Headmasters, Barty Crouch, Severus, and Minerva, headed through the door to meet the champions. Ludo Bagman had entered a few moments earlier. Mike was rather interested to know what was going on, but Dumbledore waved a hand at him, indicating that he should watch the students. Mike stuck out his lower lip in annoyance. Then he jumped to his feet and clapped his hands.

"People! _People_!" he said loudly. When nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention, Mike shifted through his pockets, looking for something to help him. He come up with an old firework. Frowning at this, Mike wondered why an earth he had a firework in his coat pocket. Then he remembered that the last time he had worn that coat had been at Lewis's birthday, during which there had been fireworks going off. He had pocketed a small one at the end, wanting to see if he could work in a joke about there being 'sparks' on his next date. He had completely forgotten about it until now.

Quickly, Mike spat on the small rocket, then threw it up into the air. It fizzled, then exploded with a loud report and a shower of orange lights. Everybody in the Hall shut up.

"Right," Mike said, his voice ringing through the Hall. "You heard the Headmaster. Bed. To your dormitories or your ship or your carriage depending on your school. Off we go now. No time to waste. Move it." With the help of the other remaining teachers, Mike started chivying the kids out of the great hall. A lot of them asked questions as Mike shoved them through the doors.

"How did he get his name into the goblet?"

"I don't know, Zachariah. Maybe he he stood outside the circle and levitated it in. Did any of you ever think of doing _that_?"

"There not going to let him compete, are they? He's only a kid. He'll die."

"I'm sure Dumbledore will think of something, Cho."

"Do you think some dark magic is to blame? Maybe it was a wrackspurt messing with the goblet. They can make human brains go fuzzy, maybe they could-"

"As much as I _love_ discussing wrackspurts, Luna, now really isn't the time. Off you trot."

Slowly, the multitude of students made their way out of the Hall and off to bed. Most of them were still scowling and muttering about 'that little show-off, Potter', but a few of them just seemed perplexed. The Gryffindors all looked thrilled. Mike stood in the hall for a moment, wondering if he should go back and see if everything was alright. After all, it was his duty as a teacher to care about the well-being of his students. Plus, he was nosy.

As he stood deliberating what to do, a wave of nausea hit him and he had to lean against the wall. That had been one of the side affects of the sobering draft, hadn't it? Nausea? Man, he hadn't expected it to be like this. He'd thought it would jsut be a little bit throghout the day, but it seemed that a magical hangover involved a sudden, heavy desire toempty his stomach all over the floor. Mike didn't fancy doing this and, deciding that he would just find out what was going on in the morning, he shuffled back to his own room.

000

"Rosmerta, I will never know how a lovely lady such as yourself doesn't have a boyfriend. If I didn't want to ruin our friendship, I'd be screwing you right now."

"Michael, if you weren't a complete love rat, I just might let you. Another Firewhiskey?"

"Please."

Mike was sitting at a table in the middle of the Three Broomsticks pub with Hagrid and Mad-Eye. The three had been getting along swimmingly and had been discussing the first task. Mike had received a letter from his sister which had said to go to a certain spot in the grounds that night and he had been trying to work out what was going on. Hagrid had also been invited to go to the grounds by a friend of his, another dragon keeper. Clearly, the first task would involve something large, scaly, and fire-breathing. Mike just hoped Harry wouldn't die because he was starting to quite like the kid.

"Yeh're gonna come to the cabin at ten, yeah?" Hagrid asked for the seventh time that day. Mike smiled, chuckling to himself.

"Hagrid, calm down. Yes, I'm going to come see you at ten and make sure you look simply _fabulous_ for your date. Don't worry. Ah, thanks Rosmerta." He took the amber glass from the curvy barmaid, giving her a wink as he did so. She blushed slightly, then turned and walked back down the room. Mike watched her go, sipping his drink. If only he didn't have a rule about not screwing his source of alcohol.

"I'd best be going," said Hagrid, getting to his feet. "I have to get back to the Skrewts. They've been getting antsy."

"I should go too," said Moody, pocketing his hipflask and pushing himself upright. "Nice talking with you."

"Hang on! I'll walk with you," said Mike, downing his drink in one go, then yelping at the scorching in his throat. This was a very strong brand of Firewhiskey, stronger than he was used to. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he hopped up. The three started to move towards the door, but then Moody stopped, nudged Hagrid, and pointed. Mike followed his arm and saw Hermione Granger sitting alone in one corner. Briefly, Mike wondered where Ron and Harry were, then remembered that the boys had fallen out. They had moved to opposite sides of the classroom in History of Magic, obviously upset about something. Hermione probably wanted some time away from them and frankly he couldn't blame her.

"Harry Potter just waved to you," Mad-Eye said, walking towards the table. "He's under his invisibility cloak."

"Invisibility... Wow, gotta see that. I've read a lot about invisibility cloaks. Wait, you can see through invisibility cloaks too? Cool, what else?" He opened his mouth to ask the question which had been bugging him for weeks, whether he had looked through girl's clothes, but stopped when he realised Hermione probably wouldn't want to hear about that.

"Hello, Hermione!" he said, moving round the table. "What are you writing?"

"Hello," Hermione smiled, holding up her notebook. "It's just something for a club I set up: S.P.E.W."

"Spew?"

"No, sir. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I want to give house elves decent wages and working conditions, because they're treated so horribly now, you know. Our short-term aims are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions..."

Mike nodded, finding himself quite interested in what Hermione was saying. She wanted to give House Elves all the rights that she thought they deserved. She even showed him a small box of badges she had made. Wordlessly, Mike placed two sickles on the table, then helped himself to a bright pink badge. Hermione's jaw dropped. From her expression, Mike guessed she hadn't had a willing member yet.

"I'm all for giving House Elves the right to decent working conditions and wages," Mike said. "They're sort of like a meek version of goblins. Anyone deserves the choices, don't they? So long as you're not forcing them into anything, I guess. And I certainly think people could stand to treat their House Elves better. Let me know how you get on with that stuff. And if you have any meetings or anything."

Hagrid and Moody had been speaking quietly to Harry who was apparently sitting on Hermione's right. Mike grinned at him when the three left.

"Nice ter see yeh, Hermione," Hagrid said with a wink as they departed. The weather was cold outside so Mike pulled his coat on tighter, then remembered his earlier thoughts.

"Hey, Mad-Eye, can I ask you something?"

Mad-Eye nodded, walking down the street back towards Hogwarts. Mike danced in front of him with a grin. "Your magical eye can see through tables and invisibility cloaks and your own head, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well, have you ever looked through someone's clothes? Checked them out?"

"Mike!" Hagrid yelped, turning beetroot. Moody gave a scowl. Mike just grinned wider, dancing up the street.

"Can you see through my clothes right now? I don't blame you for looking, anybody would. But be honest, which tattoo is your favourite? Is it this one?" He pointed to his right forearm. "This one?" He indicated his left shoulder. "Oh no, what about this one?" Mike turned and jabbed a finger at the small of his back. "I admit, that one's a personal favourite of mine. Took a while to do too, because I insisted they get every scale and tooth. Then they had to go over the little man because he didn't look _quite_ like me."

Moody ignored the younger man's comments, but Hagrid was frowning. He glanced at Mike's back, quite curious as to what the tattoo depicted.

000

"The comb's broken, Mike," Hagrid said morosely, picking one of the teeth out of his hair. "And the shirt doesn't fit very well." From his position by Hagrid's wardrobe, Mike sighed. It seemed that the Care of Magical Creature's teacher had absolutely _no_ sense of style and his clothes were all either dirty, torn, hairy, misshapen, or a combination of the four. Mike swore under his breath, then decided to go a different tack.

"Alright, so we can't neaten you up," he said, striding over to where Hagrid was seating. "That's fine. We'll try something else instead. You can be the ruffian with a heart of gold or something. You have any flowers?"

"Yeah, in the garden."

"I'll be right back. You put on your suit." Mike turned and hopped out of the door. He scoured Hagrid's flower bed in search of something which could be useful. All he could find were things which looked like artichokes, several vegetables, and a patch of daisies. Deciding that a daisy would be too small, Mike picked the prettiest artichoke thing then headed back inside. Hagrid was wearing his suit which Mike had been going over with a brush so that it didn't appear _quite_ as unruly. It was still pretty bad, but it could be worse. Mike had also set fire to that awful tie. Smiling, Mike stepped up and, standing on a chair, placed the flower in Hagrid's buttonhole.

"D'yeh think it'll go well?" Hagrid asked, wringing his hands nervously.

"I _know_ it'll go well. Just be yourself, I guess. Oh, maybe you could do a bit of French. So she knows you're willing to make an effort. Say Bong-sewer when you meet her."

"Bong-sewer," Hagrid repeated to himself. "Bong-sewer. Bong-sewer."

000

"That is a hell of a dragon," Mike breathed, looking up at the large blue creature in front of him. It was snapping and snarling at a group of wizards at it's feet, occasionally sending out jets of flame. Mike looked out and recognised his sister, Bethany, dodging the blue dragon's claws.

"It's no good!" she shouted as he watched. "Stunning spells on the count of three! One, two, three! _Stupefy!_" The four huge lizards tottered, then all fell to the ground with a thump. From his position by the fence, Mike applauded loudly, then waved to his sister.

"Mike!" she smiled, running up and pulling him into a hug. "Glad you could make it! What do you think?" She waved a hand at the stunned creature behind her.

"These for the champions? They gonna have to fight them?"

"I guess so," Bethany shrugged. "It's gonna be really hard, though. The Horntail (that's that black one) has teeth and barbs on its tale. The Chinese Fireball is incredibly intelligent. Swedish Short-Snout has a thicker hide, pretty much _nothing_ will work. Even it's eye is protected. Then the Welsh Green over there is the fastest. There are going to be a couple of scrapes, that's for sure." Mike nodded, then vaulted over the fence and moved over to the Short-Snout. Bethany grabbed his arm.

"Sorry, Mike. Can't let just _anyone_ wander over to the dragons. Have to be a fully qualified dragon keeper, not a history teacher."

"Oh, come on Beth. I just want a closer look."

Bethany opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of a broad, red-haired man who was grinning. "Going to introduce me, Beth?"

Bethany smiled and pushed Mike forward. "Charlie, this is my little brother Mike. Mike, this is Charlie Weasley, a friend and fellow dragon enthusiast."

"Hello," Mike grinned, shaking his hand and feeling numerous calluses and blisters. "Another Weasley, huh? I teach your siblings Ron and Ginny."

"Yeah, I think they've mentioned you. Professor Smitt, right? And of course, I'd heard a lot from Beth and Lewis. That kid never shuts up about his Uncle Mike." Charlie grinned and Mike was reminded of someone. He couldn't quite put his finger on _who_ he was reminded of, but he knew that it would probably annoy him for several months. Instead of dwelling on it, Mike raised a hand at the dragons.

"Talk me through them," he said excitedly. "What do I need to know about these dragons, huh?"

Immediately, Charlie launched into a detailed explanation of the habits of Swedish Short-Snouts, pointing out several different marking on the creature's hide. Meanwhile, Bethany started double checking the chains and, on the far corner of the paddock, Hagrid was talking to Madame Maxime. He struggled to remember the tips Mike had given him, finding himself getting flustered. He had been glad at Mike's suggestion to take Madame Maxime out to the dragons though. The sight of the lizard-like creatures calmed him down slightly. Say what you will about Michael Smitt, but he knew how people worked.

000

At the first task, Mike was to be found at the front of the stands cheering loudly, applauding, jumping up and down at the more exciting moments, and generally behaving in a manner which many would find inappropriate in a Hogwarts teacher. Beside him, Severus Snape leaned away to avoid the flailing arms. He was too fond of his teeth to put them in any danger.

To show his school spirit, Mike had several badges pinned to the front of his jacket. First there was his S.P.E.W. badge. Then there was a bright red one which declared '_Support CEDRIC DIGGORY - the REAL Hogwarts Champion_'. The third one he had made himself to go with the Cedric Diggory badge. It said, in blue this time, '_Support HARRY POTTER - the other, equally important Hogwarts Champion_'. A few Gryffindors had asked for their own Harry Potter badges and they could be seen dotted around the audience. He would've worn badges for Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour as well, but none of their classmates would take his requests seriously. Eventually he had decided on a Bulgarian Quidditch team rosette which he had found at the back of his classroom one afternoon, and an iris, the national flower of France. Most people didn't get this and just thought he was being a bit eccentric. Of course, by this time most people were used to him and nobody batted an eyelid.

They _did_ think it strange when Mike started a Mexican wave, but nobody complained. As Mike pointed out to a disinterested Snape, "It's _impossible_ to complain about a Mexican wave. Now, come on. You just stand up and raise your arms, then sit back down again. It's a laugh. You'll enjoy it, I promise. Oh, you're no fun, Severus."


	10. In Which A Questionable Lesson is Learnt

**Announcement! Read this bold stuff because you really don't want to miss out!**

**I know this is just a tiny little small miniscule story which is only read by about four people, but I thought it might be fun to have a little game. Sort of like a competition thing. So, I have a challenge for you. Hidden in this chapter are five song lyrics from different songs, and I want you to try and find them!**

**The first person to get back to me with all five lyrics, the names of the songs which they're from, and the artists gets a prize! I mean a proper, worthwhile prize, not just a virtual pat on the back. Don't worry, the first lyric is in plain sight and the last lyric is pretty much shouting for attention (plus that one's HP related so you should spot it a mile off). It's the middle ones which are tricky.**

**So go on, have fun. Even if you only find a couple, they're all good songs and I highly recommend them.**

**Of course nobody reads these Author's Notes anyway, so what's the point?**

**Onto the chapter. Please let me know what you think and either help me improve my writing or massage my ego so I write more.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Mike is a fictional character and his advice should not be followed unless you're <em>incredibly<em> desperate. If you _do_ follow his advice then don't come crying to me when things go pear-shaped.**

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><p>Michael Smitt's life had been running pretty smoothly for the few weeks before and after the First Triwizard Task. The task itself had been spectacular, but anything which involved dragons would <em>have<em> to be spectacular. He had been visiting Hogsmeade every weekend and occasionally on slow weekday afternoons too. Rosmerta kept giving him wearisome looks, but she never actually said anything to any of the girls, something for which Mike was thankful. In school, he had been teaching his students with a great eagerness and had been immensely proud with the vast improvements he had seen in his fifth year's essays. As well as this, he was teaching about five students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, all of whom were very interested in the subject. It seemed that _their_ schools had had better History teachers than Binns so they had been willing to take the subject at NEWT level. Along with all of this, Mike's preparations for the Yule Ball were going as well as Dumbledore had said they would.

He had received a letter from the Weird Sisters saying that the group would be able to perform. Mike had punched the air at this news, causing a few titters throughout the Great Hall. He had organised a menu with the House Elves, and in the process had met a rather funny elf named Dobby who had a fondness for socks. He had managed to convince Rosmerta to donate butterbeer and barrels of mead at a cheap price. And he had just ordered a large ice sculpture in the shape of the four dragons from the first task. The sculpture was _definitely_ his favourite decoration.

It was in the last week of term when something of particular interest happened in Mike's life. Early on a Saturday morning, the young professor was standing in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He was quite tired because he hadn't got back to his room until three that morning, having been in Hogsmeade with two Italian backpackers who were passing through on their way Stonehenge. He was just replaying a rather enjoyable moment from the previous night when a loud knock from his office door magically echoed through into the bathroom.

Mike sighed and filled a glass of water. Clamping his brush in his mouth, he padded through his room and out into his office.

000

"Look, we just go and ask him for some help. That's it. He got Hagrid and Madame Maxime together, didn't he? He'll be able to do _us_, too."

"I don't see why we need to do this. Just because Angelina won't go out with you-"

"That's _not_ what's bothering me. _You_ can ask her to the ball if you want."

"Oh, thank you very much, Lee. I just might do that." Grinning, Fred knocked on the door for a second time, only to have it swing open after the first rap. Professor Smitt looked as he normally did, with his extravagant hair and many piercings. His t-shirt had the words '_God Save The Queen_' across it and his bare arms were covered in various tattoos which Lee looked at with interest. He recognise a puffskein on the outside of his left hand.

"Morning," Smitt said thickly, speaking through a mouthful of white foam. He stood back to let Fred, George, and Lee into his office, then shut the door. About a month earlier, Mike had caught the three boys playing a small game of quidditch with each other. Apparantly, they were getting bored since the quidditch matches that year had been cancelled and had just gone out one evening to throw a quaffle to each other, one bludger swooping around at the same time. Mike had joined in, riding one of the school's old brooms. He wasn't very good at the game, but ever since then he had gotten on rather well with the boys, occasionally having conversations with them in the corridors. He'd also said that, if they had any problems, they could come to his office no matter the time of day. Obviously, they were taking advantage of the 'any time of day' part since they were there at nine am on a Saturday. It was indecent, in Mike's eyes.

"What can I do for you?"

The twins looked at each other, then nudged Lee forward. "Uh..." Lee said. Smitt had opened the window and had just spat a large gob of toothpaste out over the side. It was rather distracting.

"I'm listening," the teacher said, taking a swig of water, sloshing it around his mouth, then spitting out of the window again.

"Well, the thing is," Lee said, starting to feel awkward. This felt so _stupid_ now. "The thing is... Er..."

"Oh, for God's sake, Lee," George sighed. "Professor, we want help asking girls to the ball. We thought you could give us some tips."

Mike wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, one eyebrow raised. He didn't answer for a long time. Instead, he placed his toothbrush into the cup so the rest of the water could get to the toothpaste. Then, he walked round and sat in one of the chairs he had scattered through his office. He waved a hand to get the three boys to sit too. Then he blinked at them slowly.

"What makes you think I'd be able to give you some tips?"

"Well... You know... You have all those girls... In- In the Three Broomsticks." George looked around nervously, wondering if he'd got his information wrong. Maybe they were just rumours, all those stories about Professor Smitt picking up a different person each night.

From his seat, Professor Smitt's expression was unreadable. He crossed his knees and asked, "Where did you hear that?"

"Well, it's just common knowledge," George shrugged. "People keep talking about it. I- Is it not true?"

There was a very awkward silence in the room where everyone stared at each other. After what seemed like forever, there was a long sigh from the teacher. "Man, I've got to be more careful. I thought my reputation in this school was white. Damn. No, it's true. I go to Hogsmeade and pick up women. The rumours are true, but I'll be _damned_ if I knew how they got started. I made sure to only flirt with people when there were no Hogwarts students or staff around. Keep the love life and work life separate, you know. But, now that that's over, I guess- I'm sorry Fred, what's that expression for?"

The others turned and saw that the twin was looking slightly dubious. His face was twisted up and one eyebrow was cocked. "I'm sorry," he said with a shrug. "But I don't see it. Why would a girl like _you_? No offence or anything, but you're not exactly a looker."

Mike blinked at him, his blue eyes widening in shock. Then he sighed and slumped forward. "To be honest, I've no idea. I don't know _why_ women like me, it's baffled me for ages. I just... I don't know. You're right. I'm ugly. I'm stupid. I'm _nothing_." He looked up into Fred's face, blinking slowly. The boy squirmed, sorry he'd made Professor Smitt miserable that early in the morning. Mike _was_ a nice guy after all.

"I doubt myself a lot of the time, you know," Michael said after a long pause, looking down at his hands. His voice was quite low so the others had to lean forward to hear him. "I constantly ask myself what I'm doing with my life, where I'm going. I always wonder... I always ask what the point of it all is. Just going through life with a string of meaningless relationships. I've never gotten too attached to one person, you know? It's always just, get one over with then move on. I tell myself that I'm young, that I'm having fun, that I have plenty of time to settle down, but really... I don't think that's it. Deep down... Deep down, I think I'm scared."

Fred leaned forward a bit more and murmured, "Scared?" Mike looked up, his blue eyes meeting Fred's brown ones. He didn't look away. Their gazes seemed locked together.

"Scared," he said with a nod. "I'm scared of letting myself get close to someone. Scared of letting someone in. I'm scared of getting hurt. So I keep running away. A different woman each night in a sorry attempt to hide from the truth. I'm just afraid of being too close to someone." He sighed, lowering his eyelids to the ground and moving his head forward slightly. Fred leaned in a touch. "I just... It's just that recently, I've been asking myself a lot of questions... I've been asking what I really _want_ out of life." Fred tilted his head a fraction. "I've been wondering if maybe... Maybe it's _good_ to do something scary." Mike's breath became softer. "Maybe... Just maybe... I could meet someone and it could be _more_ than just a one night thing. What do you think?"

There was scarcely an inch between Mike's and Fred's noses, but Fred nodded slowly, not once looking away. Mike brushed his knee against Fred's. The red-haired boy moved a fraction closer. Their noses brushed softly together. Their eyes closed. Breath mingled in the air between them as the teacher and student moved their lips together. Hearts thudded in their chests. Blood pounded in their ears. The entire world seemed to vanish. They were no longer a teacher and student, sitting in the middle of a school office. They were no longer Michael Smitt and Fred Weasley. Now, they were just two people. Two people alone in their own space. It felt so right.

"And that's an example of how fake feelings of sorrow and doubt are used to get people interested," Mike said, breaking the spell and flopping back into his chair. Fred stayed in position, leaning forward in his seat, his face a rosy pink colour. He blinked in confusion, trying to work out what had just happened. Beside him, George and Lee had burst out laughing and were in danger of falling onto the floor. Fred looked up at Mike who shrugged.

"You shouldn't doubt your teachers," he grinned. "Especially if you want their help. Now _you_ sit up and _you_ two shut up. I could just as easily get you."

The other two sat up, still giggling. Fred's face cracked into a smile and he laughed himself, but his face stayed flushed. He was also incredibly embarrassed to find that a certain... A certain _area_ of his body had decided to sit up and pay attention. Glancing at his two friends, he surreptitiously crossed his legs, coughed, then asked, "So, can you give us some help then?"

Mike thought for a moment. "I _guess_ I can. Not much I can say though. What exactly did you want to know?"

"We want to ask girls to the Yule Ball," Lee said. He was sick of Angelina Johnson saying she didn't want to go out with him. _Any_ advice would be good. Unfortunately, Mike didn't seem too helpful.

"Why don't you just ask them out? Confidence. That's all that's needed. Girls dig confidence, hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

Lee shook his head. "I've already asked this one girl out and she keeps saying no."

"You asked her more than once? Ooh, desperate. Uh... I can't help you with that. Nobody's said no to me before, I-"

"Seriously? Nobody?"

"Yeah. Nobody. I'm telling you, _confidence_. You'd be surprised how easy it is. Go up to a girl say, 'excuse me, do you want to screw?' She'll be so surprised she'll say 'yes' without thinking. Of course, being reasonably attractive helps. I mean, thank God _I'm_ pretty or I'm sure I'd _never_ be able to get _some_ of them." George snorted, but Mike ignored him. "Luckily, you three all seem reasonably handsome. I'm sure the girls aren't _entirely_ repulsed so that's a bonus. Oh, another thing. Girls like _me_ cause they know that I can rock. I have this musician persona. Artistic and that I'm a teacher, I also have the intellectual thing going on. Girls seem to like that, they really do."

"Should _we_ become musicians, then?" Lee asked. "Learn how to play an instrument or get singing lessons?"

"No, the world's full of singers. We don't need any more. What _you_ guys should all play on is that funny, prankster persona you all have. Tell jokes, make them laugh. Just don't give them a canary cream."

"How do you know about _them_?" George asked in surprise. They hadn't given any to a teacher. Mike explained how a second year boy had offered him a biscuit a week ago in class. He'd taken a bite, turned into a canary, and had ended up laughing too hard to give a detention. The boy thought he was off the hook, but the next Mike had set the entire class a two foot long essay as punishment. He was pretty sure the other students had punished the boy enough after that.

"So, you're saying that if we just ask someone out they should say yes?" Fred asked. Mike nodded.

"Girl's aren't _that_ complicated, Fred."

"So is that all it takes to get a different girl each night?"

"What? No no no no no no no no no no no no _no_. That's all it takes to get a girl you already know to go out with you to a ball which she wants to go to _anyway_. To ask them out _normally_ you need a bit more sincerity and you have to work at it a bit beforehand. Compliments. Arm touches. Laughing at her jokes. If you want them to just sleep with you then that takes a bit of practice."

"You just said all you have to do is ask and they'd be too surprised to-" started Lee, but Mike interrupted.

"That works the first couple of goes. Then people get wise to it and you get slapped. You need to perfect your voice, your words, your actions, your 'come hither' look-"

"Your _what_?"

Mike sighed at the lack of knowledge and pinched the bridge of his nose. These boys had never had girlfriends, had they? He looked up at the ceiling for a second, then turned round and directed his gaze at George and Lee. For some odd reason, his once light blue eyes had seemed to become darker and more mysterious. They hinted at something _deeper_. They were intriguing. The boys found it impossible to look away. Then, after a few seconds where nobody had moved a muscle, Mike gave a small smile and a very faint wink. Almost as if on cue, both George and Lee blushed.

"Told you I could get you, too," Mike said, looking away and breaking his hold on them. Fred burst out laughing as George and Lee looked at each other in confusion. Neither of them could believe what had just happened. This guy was _good_. "And that's a 'come hither' look. Took a lot of work and a lot of staring into a mirror, but it never fails. That's the kind of dedication it takes to get a different woman every night. But, why am I even telling you this? I don't want to pollute your young minds with such sordid things as that.

"We're sixteen, sir, not that much younger than you."

"Don't call me 'sir', it sounds so _weird_." Mike thought for a second, debating what to do here. These boys were sixteen, old enough to learn this stuff. Then again, he had worked too long and hard to have someone _else_ muscle in on _his_ territory. Then _again_, he may not even be able to teach them anything _anyway_. While some things (such as his look) had taken a bit of work, most of it was just him going with the flow. How could he even teach something when he just did it naturally?

"Tell you what," he said finally. "You go try and get girls to go to the ball with you, then come back if you want to know anything else. I'll see what I can do."

000

On Christmas Eve, Michael Smitt stepped down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Nobody recognised him. Gone were the many piercings which littered his face and ears. His dark hair was contained no hair gel and been pulled back into a sleek ponytail, tied with a ribbon. Elegant black robes replaced his usual jeans. He looked like someone out of the nineteenth century and when asked about it later, Mike would say that he thought he looked like Gerald Fletcher, his favourite potioneer from the Victorian era. The only thing which hinted that this _was_, in fact, Mike were the letters tattooed along the back of his fingers which read, "NA/NA/NA/NA/NA/NA/NA/NA/NA/!"

Mike squeezed through the crowds, waving to people he recognised, and receiving strange looks from people who didn't recognise him back when he waved. In the distance, he could make out Fred Weasley standing next to Angelina Johnson. Then George Weasley was with a Beauxbatons girl whose name Mike didn't know. Lee Jordan was standing next to a girl with short black hair who Mike was certain was called Patricia Stimpson.

"Nice work," he muttered to himself, moving over to the doors of the Great Hall. All three boys had managed to get rather pretty partners. As he crossed the Hall, Mike checked his watch. It was almost midnight. The doors should be opening any second... Yes, there they went.

Mike was immensely pleased with how the decorations had turned out. The walls were now glittering with icicles and frost, and the enchanted ceiling was filled with holly, ivy, and strategically placed mistletoe. He had arranged different centrepieces to be placed on each of the many round tables which were replacing the house tables that evening. He'd even worked wonders with the grounds should anybody want to leave the Hall. Then, right by the entrance was the large ice sculpture of four dragons intertwined. It may not have been _Christmassy_, but it was by far Mike's favourite thing in the room.

"I'm a fucking genius," he sang to himself as he entered the Hall.


	11. In Which Christmas Is Enjoyed By All

**School starts up again tomorrow so I won't be able to write as much. Gone are the daily updates, say hello to weekly updates.**

**Now on with the show!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: It's very bad for someone to touch a girl's bottom without her permission. <strong>

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><p>"Smile. Wave. Look away, keep her interested. Have a brief conversation with me. We're talking about something very interesting indeed. Nod along and talk back. Now glance up at her table. Smile, look away. Very good. She'll be interested. Count to fifty before glancing back very quickly. No smile this time."<p>

"Are yeh sure it'll work?" Hagrid asked, awkwardly poking a fork at his chicken.

"Do you _still_ doubt me?" Mike asked with a smile. "Look back, very quickly. There we go." He gave a laugh, then leaned in close to his friend. "Hagrid, trust me. I know how to do these things."

"Well, I-"

Mike pressed a finger to his lips, then glanced around surreptitiously, rolling back his right sleeve. "Hagrid, I am going to show you something which will dispel all doubts you may have. You should feel privileged because nobody else has seen this before. Here." Mike held out his right forearm and pointed to a tattoo stretching from his wrist all the way up to the inside of his elbow. It looked like it was a very detailed bedpost, covered in lots of grains of wood. Hagrid blinked at it.

"Wha' am I meant ter be lookin' at?" he asked. Mike sighed and jabbed a finger at the bedpost. Hagrid leaned in, squinting. Now that he was close up, the grains of wood look like... They looked like words. No, not words. They were _names_. Hagrid saw Jennifer Tuck, Maria Bianci, Lucinda Jones, Kelly-Anne Granger, Dave Knight... He frowned up at Mike.

"Who's names're they?" he asked.

"Those, Hagrid, are the names of all the people I've ever slept with. Every last one."

"What? But there must be abou' a hundred names there."

"Well, I don't _count_ them Hagrid, that would be crass. I just like to _remember_ them. Each name tells a story, you see. And if _I_ am able to get myself all _those_ people then I will be able to get _you_ that _one_."

Hagrid looked into Michael's smiling face, not feeling at all comfortable. He always felt flustered around Madame Maxime.

After a moment of silence, Hagrid asked, "'Dave'?"

Mike laughed, chewing a mouthful of steak. "Yeah. A drunken yet surprisingly enjoyable mistake."

000

Mike was standing to one side of the room, drinking a glass of mead. He was watching the Weird Sisters intently, trying to pin down exactly what it was which made them so successful. So far he had got: good stage presence, rapport with the audience, consistently sexy band members, distinct clothing style, and good music. The only problem was that he himself had had all those things too, but _his_ music had never taken off. Frowning, he took another sip of alcohol.

He had just spent the last hour dancing with various partners. All of the teachers of course, then a few of his students. One Durmstrang girl, Varenka, had actually danced with him twice and hadn't stopped talking for the whole time. Mike didn't really mind. Varenka was a good student, very interesting to talk to, and she had a very nice bottom. It was round and firm, like a peach and had taken all of Mike's self control not to run his hand's over it when they were dancing. After all the dancing and talking, Mike's Italian shoes were beginning to pinch and he was taking a break. Of course as is so typical of life, it was just when he was relaxing that somebody bumped into him from behind.

"Sorry," a small voice huffed. Mike turned and found himself face to face with a girl in blue robes who was scowling. It took him a moment to recognise her.

"Hermione! Hello!"

Hermione blinked up at him, then her eyes widened. "Professor Smitt? Wow, you look different."

"Scrub up well, don't I? And this are the holidays, Hermione. It's just Mike this evening." Mike paused, noticing the girl's angry expression. He put his glass on a nearby table and offered her a hand. "Do you have time for a dance with your old History of Magic teacher? This one happens to be a good song." Hermione was about to protest, but Mike raised an eyebrow and gave her a small blast of his 'come hither' look. Not enough to make her want to jump his bones, but just enough that she'd want to dance one dance. It worked and a blushing Hermione let herself be led out onto the dancefloor. Honestly, sometimes things were just _too easy_.

"Are you having fun?" he asked as the two of them twirled around in the middle of all the other couples. "I noticed you managed to get Viktor Krum to ask you to be his partner. Is he a good companion? Or is he as grumpy as he looks in all his photographs?"

"No," Hermione nodded. "No, he's actually very nice. I'm really enjoying myself."

"And yet you were striding away across the room, bumping into people and wearing a death glare on your face."

Hermione flushed and looked away. Mike squeezed her shoulder. "Did it have anything to do with Ron?"

"How did you know that?" gasped Hermione, her eyes widening in shock. Was she really that easy to read?

"Well, he's been staring at you and Krum pretty much all night. I figured he might have said something to you. Did he?"

Well..." Hermione scowled down at her shoes, making dancing with her slightly harder to do. "It's just... Oh, he's just so _infuriating_ sometimes!" Mike smiled at this ejaculation and spun Hermione under one of his arms.

"How old is Ron?" he asked when they were facing each other again.

"What? He's fourteen, why?"

"Because when boys are fourteen, they're complete idiots. And I mean idiots. Ron doesn't have a _clue_ what's going on inside his own brain so he he's gonna misunderstand situations and say the wrong thing all the time. Besides, I've seen his essays. Ronald Weasley is a great number of things, but a genius isn't one of them. However, girls have it relatively together at this stage of the game. Particularly girls as clever as you. The result is that boys like Ron say things which drive girls like you round the bend. I imagine he said something cutting about Krum, did he? Insult him?"

"He said I was fraternising with the enemy."

"Yup, moronic fourteen-year-old. Don't pay him any attention."

"That's not all," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Ages ago, when he and Harry were looking for partners, he actually said 'I just realised you're a girl'. Then he asked me to the ball." Mike winced. He knew Ron wasn't the sharpest quill in the box, but _fuck_.

"Let me assure you, you are quite clearly a girl. _I_ know it, _Viktor_ knows it, that Beauxbatons boy who's been checking you out for the last minute knows it. Ron _also_ knows it, but he's a moron, like I said. Actually, if I may say so, I think the main reason he doesn't like Krum right now is because he's far too aware you're a girl."

Hermione blinked up at him in confusion. "What?" At that moment the song ended and Mike stepped away to clap for the Weird Sisters. It was then that Krum, holding two butterbeers, walked up.

"Herm-own-ninny!" he smiled, handing her one of the beverages. Hermione took it and turned to ask Mike something, but he had already vanished. He wanted to ask Myron Wagtail, the lead singer, if he'd be up for a duet.

000

Clutching a backpack firmly, Mike stepped into the roaring green flames of his office fireplace and said an address. He spun round for what felt like an age, then tumbled out on the other side. For a few seconds he tottered on the carpeted floor. Then he spat out a large glob of vomit. Almost immediately, a purple bucket was forced under his chin, catching the dregs as they dribbled down off the bottom of his jaw.

"What have I told you about drinking before going through the floo network?" said a kind voice. Mike looked up to find his sister wrinkling her scarred nose at him, holding the bucket under his face. Mike grinned and shrugged. He had gone straight from the Yule Ball to his office and was now standing in the middle of his sister's flat in Romania where he would be spending the rest of the holidays. Lewis would be here, along with Bethany's boyfriend and Lewis' father, James.

"Is everyone else still sleeping?" he asked, glancing out the window at the dark sky. Bethany nodded. The plan was that, after being told his favourite uncle had to work over the holidays, Lewis would get the surprise of his life when he came down in the morning to find Mike sitting on the sofa. That had been the _original_ plan, but Mike had had a better one since then. It involved being placed inside a large cardboard box in the middle of the room with bright wrapping paper and a card saying 'To Lewis'. Bethany had already prepared the box. Now all they needed was to put Mike inside it.

"There's a pillow in there if you want to sleep," Bethany murmured, helping him step into the box. "Your hair is really nice like this, by the way. What did you do to it?"

"I washed out all the gel," Mike smiled. "But I can't keep it like this, Bethany. I'd lose my _look_." He had changed back into some jeans since the Ball, and he'd gotten rid of those new shoes which had been pinching his feet like a bitch. However, he hadn't had time to do his hair which was still in the sleek ponytail. He'd been annoyed about this at first, but now that he was in the box, Mike was actually quite glad he didn't have all his spikes taking up the extra room.

"This is much smaller than it looks from the outside," he said as Bethany closed the box on him. "And the pillow isn't helping with that. Did you put airholes in here?"

"No, I cast a bubble charm on it."

"Right, right. Silly me and my non-magical ways."

"Shut up, will you? We want Lewis to be surprised and he _won't_ be surprised if he hears your voice."

"Yeah, alright. I'll shut up."

"Good."

"Quiet as a mouse."

"Mike."

"Silent like the grave."

"God's sake."

"Not a peep from-"

"_Silencio!_"

000

Bethany had been in a relationship with James for six months when she discovered she was pregnant. There had been quite a bit of discussion about what they were going to do about it. Bethany had only been eighteen at the time and James was just a year older than her. They both thought that they weren't old enough to have kids, and neither of them were particularly into children anyway. However, in the act-first-ask-questions-later style which is characeristic of the Smitts, Bethany had decided that having a kid might be fun. So, nine months later, Lewis Christopher Thurlby-Smitt was born.

Several years on, Bethany and James were still together, in a manner of speaking. Bethany spent most of her time in Romania, living in a small flat at the edge of the dragon reserve. James had a house just outside Glasgow where he lived with Lewis. For most holidays and birthdays, they would switch between visiting Romania and all staying in Scotland. Lewis always said he preferred holidays in Romania because he liked getting the opportunity to run out and see a few dragons in the morning. Bethany preferred Scotland because she liked waking up in the morning and knowing that she probably wouldn't get burned that day. Of course, in Glasgow you can never be _entirely_ sure about that. James just liked having the whole family together, something he and Mike agreed on.

A tall, thick-shouldered, blonde man, James had a personality very similar to the Smitt siblings'. Quite often he would wake Lewis up at six am to go camping, then forget to bring a tent. Or he would go shopping and come back with two sacks of oranges, a pint of milk, and a muggle magazine about cars when all he'd wanted had been some eggs. It was, quite frankly, a miracle how Lewis was still alive and healthy when he opened the large box that Christmas to be met with the grinning face of his uncle.

"Uncle Mike!" he'd screeched, wrapping his arms tightly around Mike's neck and almost choking him. "You came! You're not working! Why's your hair all funny?"

000

Mike and Lewis were sitting on a rock at the edge of the dragon reserve, watching the large reptiles swooping overhead. Every so often there would be a burst of flame and Mike would pull out the fireproof umbrella Bethany told him to carry around. This would disperse the flames on either side of the man and his nephew, causing said nephew to laugh excitedly. It also warmed them up, since it was fucking freezing out there. Mike had insisted that Lewis wear a hat, scarf, gloves, thick socks and earmuffs and even then he kept asking if the boy was cold.

As they were sitting there, feeling quite full from the Christmas lunch they'd just had, Lewis spotted someone approaching and waved. "Uncle Charlie!" he called, hopping to his feet. Mike looked up and saw the red haired man from the first task waving at Lewis.

"We meet again," said Mike, getting to his feet. "Nice to see you. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Charlie said. "Glad to see Beth has her family out. I was stuck with the day shift so I'm only just off. I just wanted to drop by and give Lewis something." He fished into his pocket and pulled out a box which Lewis snatched eagerly and ripped open. Inside was a model of a dragon made out of what looked like...

"Dragon eggshell," Charlie explained. "They hatched a few weeks ago and I collected the pieces. It should last for quite a while, that should."

"Wow, cool!" Lewis said, examining the object from all sides. "Thanks, Uncle Charlie!"

"Don't mention it little man," Charlie said, ruffling the kid's hair. "And, I'm sorry but I don't have anything for you, Mike."

"Why Charlie, I am most grievously injured," Mike said, clutching at his chest in mock distress. He laughed, then leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Can I offer you a drink before you leave? I have some Firewhiskey here." Mike held up a flask which he had hidden in his coat pocket so his sister didn't confiscate it. She had a problem with Mike carrying flammable, alcoholic beverage around a dragon reserve along with her son. When Charlie nodded, Mike turned to his nephew. "Lewis, I want you to go down to that river and find the smoothest rocks you can. Then we'll go skim them over the lake."

"But the lake's frozen over, Uncle Mike."

"Well then we'll just throw the rocks at the lake and see who can break off the biggest chunk of ice. Here's the umbrella. Run! _Run_! And stay away from the dragons!"

"You sure that's wise?" Charlie asked, watching the boy speed across the frosty ground to a nearby river. "What if he gets hurt?"

"Survival of the fittest, I guess," Mike shrugged. "But he's got his umbrella, he'll be fine. We do this all the time. Just don't tell Beth, will you? I don't think she'd appreciate it."

"My lips are sealed."

Grinning, Mike cracked open the Firewhiskey and the two men sat on the rock, chatting companionably. Every so often there would be a burst of flame nearby which Charlie would dissipate with his wand. Really, that was how Christmas should _always_ be spent.


	12. In Which Profanities Are Uttered

**I have to post this quickly because I'm just on my way out. The school swing Band is performing 'Autumn Leaves and I'm the pianist so I have to go to. Hopefully, it'll be better than our last performance where the lead trumpeter's trumpet broke. On stage. Mid-song. Just before her solo.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Freshwater plimpies are delicious and nutritious.<strong>

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><p>"Hagrid, just open your door! I don't <em>care<em> if you're mum was a giantess, just talk to me. Come on, man. Stewing in your own juices won't solve anything. Look, at least let me know you're alright. Hello? Shit." Mike walked around the small cabin, trying to peer through the curtains but to no avail. Hagrid hadn't ventured outside his cabin in over a week, all because some little, attention-grabbing whore had written an article about his mother. When Mike had found out he'd been spitting acid.

The fact that people were judged because of their family history or their blood purity or their magical status was something that cut Mike to the bone. He was perfectly fine with being insulted because someone found him annoying or stupid or plain _weird_, but the one thing he could not tolerate was people insulting him because he was a squib. _'What the fuck does it matter if I can't make sparkly lights appear out of the end of a twig?'_ he'd always ask. _'I'm just as much a person as _you_ are.'_ As such, when this Rita Skeeter had written the bullshit article about Hagrid's heritage and stirred up the community, Mike hadn't been at all pleased. This was the third time he'd visited the small cabin at the edge of the grounds and it was the third time his knocks hadn't been answered.

Yelling a string of profanities, Mike kicked the brick wall. Pain flared up in his toes and an even louder string of profanities left his lips. He hopped on one foot back to the door and spoke in a calmer voice.

"Look, I'm worried about you, alright? I've got some food here because I'm not sure just how much stuff you have in your cupboards. You don't want to get sick or anything. I'll put it by your door. Just make sure you look after yourself, okay? Now I'm gonna go up to the hospital wing because I think I broke my toe. I hope you're alright. Bye." With that, he placed a basket of food which he'd had some house elves prepare on the door step, turned, and hobbled back up to the castle. There were ten minutes where the cabin was silent. Then, the door cracked open and a large hand emerged, picked up the basket, then retreated.

000

It wasn't every day that Mike met up with a girl more than once, but he sometimes had really good chemistry and really good sex which he wanted to repeat. The girl this time was called Clarissa and she had been visiting relatives nearby, renting out a room in the Three Broomsticks. Mike had spotted her in the bar, been intrigued by her sparkling green eyes and long, auburn hair, and struck up a conversation. A few drinks and a few hours later, Mike asked when she was going back to Liverpool and whether she'd be free for a coffee. She said she was free next Saturday and now Mike was standing in front of a mirror, making sure his shirt, face, and hair were all perfect. It was a Hogsmeade weekend for the students and usually he wouldn't go on a date when there were students around to watch, but he was making an exception just this once.

"The second time is harder than the first, because you have to remember all the lies _you_ told _her_ as well as all the stuff _she_ told _you_," he had said to Lee Jordan who had cornered him in the corridor one afternoon.

"Why do you have to lie?"

"Because when you lie you can make yourself more interesting. Who'd you rather have sex with: a boring old history teacher or a man who was offered a record deal and a mansion in France, but turned it down to become a teacher because he wanted to give something back to the community?"

As he walked out of the school, Mike tried to remember everything that had been talked about the first time they'd met. Now... He had been raised on a dragon reserve, could cook, and had a love of all animals. One day, when he was 12, he had found a baby dragon with a broken wing. He'd nursed it back to life, fed it, given it a name, and had been brought to tears when he'd had to release it because dragons cannot be tamed. He was a teacher now which had been a lifelong dream of his. He was also a bit of an artist and had written a few poems and songs, but had been too shy to show anyone because they weren't that good. Mike had tucked a small poem into his shirt pocket, ready to pull out and recite at the right moment. It would need to be read in a quiet voice, not looking up at her and blushing towards the end. He'd been working on his blush so he was pretty confident that it would go smoothly.

Now, what had Clarissa told him? She had a younger brother at Beauxbatons, her father was French and her Mother was British. She enjoyed reading and her favourite musical act was Spellbound. Mike had memorised a few Spellbound lyrics and had researched the group's history, just in case they came up again. She also said she had a cat named Circe and she worked for the Ministry of Magic as a secretary in the Department of Magical Transportation. Apparently it was very dull. The rest had been unimportant. Or at least, it hadn't been interesting enough to remember.

He dodged around the line of kids who were queuing up for their Hogsmeade weekend, grinned at Filch, then trotted down the steps. There was a definite spring in his step which always came when he had a second... He was about to go with _'date'_, but that wasn't really the correct word. A second _meet-up_ with a girl. He enjoyed the extra challenge that came with them for one thing. It was harder to get the girl into bed on the second date because she tended to want to talk a bit more and get to know him.

As he was crossing the grounds, Mike looked out to Hagrid's cabin. He still hadn't come out and the two hadn't spoken for ages. Mike was going to go to his hut just after his meet-up, or that was the plan anyway. As he looked at the house, he remembered the daisies which were growing in the flower bed there. Flowers were always good on second meet-us. After a moment's deliberation, Mike decided that Hagrid wasn't going to care about his flowers if he wasn't even leaving the house, then started strolling down the lawn. He could spare a few minutes. Keep Clarissa hungry.

If Mike had been paying any attention to what was going on around him, he might have spotted Professor Dumbledore who was also walking towards Hagrid's cabin. As it was, he only noticed the headmaster when he called out.

"Hello, Mike. Are you on your way down to visit Hagrid, too?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna visit Hagrid. Worried about him. Yeah."

"Well, I'm glad you're here today. You and I both need to talk to him. I received a letter from him this morning saying that he was resigning and-"

"'_Resigning'?_ Why? Because of that stupid newspaper article?"

"Yes, I believe that's the main reason."

Completely forgetting that Clarissa was waiting for him in Madame Puddifoot's, Mike strode across the grounds to Hagrid's small cabin. He'd be damned if he just stood back and watched his friend throw his job away because of one person who wasn't good enough to lick slime off the bottom of his shoe. He stopped in front of Hagrid's door, opened his mouth, and raised a hand to pummel on the wood, but Dumbledore tapped him on the shoulder, distracting him.

"I think it would be best to approach this situation calmly and quietly, instead of yelling," he smiled, stepping forward. "Hagrid. It is I, Dumbledore. I am here with Mike and we would both like to speak to you. Do you think you could let us in?"

There was a scraping sound from inside the cabin, then the door slowly creaked open. Dumbledore stepped inside, Mike close behind him. The cabin was untidy, with dirty plates and cups in the sink and dust on the floor. Hagrid didn't look much better. He had large bags under his eyes, his clothes seemed even scruffier than usual, and his hair had turned into a wild ball of frizz on top of his head. Mike hadn't thought it possible, but the guy looked even more intimidating than before.

"'Lo," he mumbled.

"Hi Hagrid," Mike responded softly. He sat down at the table, feeling quite awkward all of a sudden. At a loss for what to say, he started sucking on his lip ring instead. Dumbledore meanwhile, had pulled out his wand.

"Perhaps we could clean things up a bit in here," he said calmly, waving his wand. The dirt and grime vanished from the shelves and table tops, along with the food on the plates and cups which then flew back onto the shelves. Dumbledore waved his wand again and three tankards of tea appeared on the table. For a second, Mike wondered what had happened to Gamp's Five Elemental Exceptions, then decided that Dumbledore was probably too good a wizard to pay any attention to such things.

"Now, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, sitting down on the teacher's other side. "Why do you want to resign?"

Hagrid gave a sniffle, staring resolutely down at the table. "You know why," he mumbled. "People hate me 'cos o' that article. S'not like any o' the parents want me ter stay. May as well go."

"You are certainly wrong about the parents," Dumbledore said, pulling a clump of letters from his robes. "I have received countless letters from people who remember you from their own school days and the vast majority want you to stay. _'If you fire a dear old person like Rubeus Hagrid just because of one article, I shall come over there and see you myself. You are better than that, and so is Hagrid.'_"

"The- The students don' like me. Nobody enjoys my lessons."

"I'm sure that's not true," Mike said. "I'm sure _plenty_ of people enjoy your lessons. And of course they like you, why wouldn't they? I think-" But he was interrupted by a loud pounding on the front door and some angry yelling.

"Hagrid! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mother was a giantess, Hagrid!"

"Sounds like Hermione," Mike said, nudging Hagrid's arm. He knew that trio were friendly with Hagrid.

"I'll get it, shall I?" said Dumbledore. He got to his feet and moved to open the door. Hermione's yelling abruptly stopped, then she, Harry, and Ron all walked into the small room. "More tea, I think."

"_These_ guys don't want you to leave, judging by how they were trying to break down the door," Mike said, gesturing at the students. "Just goes to show, you don't know what you're talking about. Lots of people still want to know you."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry shouted. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow- sorry Professor."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore while Mike just grinned. It was so _cute_ that Harry thought people would be offended by the name 'cow'.

"Er- right," Harry was saying. "I just meant - Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that _woman_ wrote about you?"

"Living proof to what I've been telling you, Hagrid. I have shown you the letters from all the parents who want you to remain and-"

"Not all of 'em," Hagrid interupted, tears falling down his face. "Not all of 'em want me ter stay."

"For God's _sake_, Hagrid!" Mike said, finally losing his temper and pounding a fist on the table. "You're never going to get universal approval. Never! There's always going to be one person who doesn't want you to teach their kids because of your mother, but you know something? Those people are complete _morons_ and are not worth stressing about. You are a _good_ teacher and a _good_ person and you're heritage doesn't mean _shit_. It doesn't matter what some fucking, stirring, money-grabbing _whore_ says about you, because that kind of stuff isn't important and doesn't change who you _are_. People who know you know you're a good person. People who don't know you and aren't willing to get to know you aren't worth your time." He finished his rant with a huff of annoyance, then turned to the three kids who were gaping at him. "Don't worry guys, I'm pretty sure Professor Dumbledore had gone temporarily deaf again. And you're old enough to know that language anyway so don't look so shocked."

Hagrid's hands were shaking. He croaked, "Yeh- Yeh'r not half-giant, Mike."

"Hagrid, look what _I've_ got for relatives," Harry said furiously. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Professor Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held hid head high and went about his business as usual!" Mike opened his mouth to ask what exactly was _inappropriate_ about these charms, then stopped himself. He was concentrating on Hagrid right then.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," Hermione was saying. "Please come back, we really miss you." Mike nodded his agreement. He'd certainly found himself feeling lonely at the Staff table during mealtimes. He reached over and squeezed Hagrid's thumb, his hand not big enough to go round all of Hagrid's. More tears poured down Hagrid's face, into his beard. Dumbledore stood up.

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," he said. "You will join me for breakfast at eight thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all." He left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang's ears. Mike sat back in his chair, smiling happily. His gaze travelled around the small cabin, then came to rest on the clock just above the mantelpiece.

"Oh, cock!" he yelled, when he saw what time it was. "Clarissa! I completely forgot. Hagrid, I have to go, I was supposed to meet someone twenty minutes ago. Shit. I hope she hasn't left yet. Uh... Look, I'll see you Monday. Don't let anything that Skeeter bitch says get to you. I'll see you three in class on Tuesday. Good luck with the second task, Harry. Bugger. Bugger! Bugger bugger bugger!" With that, Mike ran out of the cabin, slammed the door behind him, and sprinted to Hogsmeade. If Clarissa was even still at Madame Puddifoots, she'd be annoyed at his lateness. That means, he'd have to talk himself up, get through the conversation she'd want to do, get her in the mood, then get her into bed. It was gonna be struggle, that was for sure.

Actually, now that he thought about it, a struggle might be just what the doctor ordered.

000

"The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was only put into full affect in 1692. This was because a group of muggle men had broken into the house of a wizard in their village and had threatened to burn him alive unless he granted all of their wishes. Most of them wanted loved ones back from the dead as this was just after a fire had broken out in that village and about half the population had perished. Of course, this was _impossible_, but the muggles didn't believe it and the poor chap was killed. Most wizards were approving of the Statute, but a few were against it. If you could turn to page- Oh, is that the bell? Damn, things were just getting interesting. Oh well. Lunch."

Mike sighed and shrugged, deciding there was no use complaining. Instead, he waved a hand to his third years to get packed up. "Homework for next lesson," he called over the noise. "I want you to pick one of the wizards or muggles we've looked at this week and write a short paragraph, in that person's point of view, about the Statute of Secrecy and how it effects them. Be imaginative. Colin, your camera is still beneath your desk. Don't forget it."

Slowly, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws left the classroom for lunch and Mike started packing up his things. He didn't have any lessons that afternoon so he was going to go into Hogsmeade. He picked up the cello which he had been using with his first years that morning, turned and found that one of his students was still standing in class.

"Not hungry, Luna?" he asked, picking up his bag.

"No, not particularly," the girl said dreamily, staring at him in her usual, unnerving manner. "I wanted to ask you something. Is it hard to learn how to play that?" She pointed a finger at the cello in Mike's right hand. He gave a modest tilt of his head.

"Well, you know," he said airily. "_I_ picked it up fast enough, but I'm not sure about anyone else. Music's just always been a talent of mine. I was in quite a few bands in my youth."

"So why didn't you become a musician, instead of a teacher?"

"I felt that I could help more people by going into education, rather than following my music. My loyal fans were sad to see this decision, but ultimately it was the best thing to do."

"You were in a band called _Suburban Avalon_, weren't you?"

"Um... Yes. How'd you know that?"

"My father saw you perform at a muggle bar in London," Luna said, making Mike gulp. _Please let it have been a good performance,_ he begged mentally. _Please oh please oh please-_

"Apparently you were quite good," Luna continued, making Mike breath a sigh of relief. "But I don't think anybody else apart from my father liked you because you were booed off stage. One person threw a sandwich at you."

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Mike nodded. It had been a tuna sandwich, and since he didn't have a car he'd had to walk back to his flat surrounded by the stench of fish. He struggled to think of how he could explain things in a way which made him come off well.

"You see, Luna," Mike said finally. "True artistic expression is about pushing boundaries. It's about being _adventurous_ and doing something nobody else has thought of. That's what _I_ try to do. Of course, this means that my music is ahead of it's time. Because it's ahead of it's time, people today don't appreciate it, but it will be greatly appreciated in the future. The only people who can see the true talent of my work are people who, like me and and your father, are _also_ ahead of our time."

"Oh, I see... But doesn't that mean that you just became a teacher because you couldn't be a musician?"

"Did you just stay after class to deliberately annoy me?"

"No, I wanted to ask if you could give me cello lessons."

"Why didn't you say that at the start, then?"

"I was going to, but you started talking about your band," Luna said breezily. She waved her hand at the cello. "I'd like to learn how to play a cello because music played in the scale of D-minor on a stringed instrument attracts freshwater plimpies. It would be easier to catch them then."

"... Okay. That's as good a reason as any to learn how to play an instrument. Um... I can't see any reason why not. Sure. I'll talk to the headmaster, see if I can't sort something out."

The next morning, posters had gone up in all the common rooms. For a short time, the musical expertise of Professor Smitt would be available to all students who wished to learn how to play guitar, cello, or improve their singing. Sign up now as places are limited. Never again will such a rare opportunity come by, now come on. Girls, sound like a siren and be the envy of your friends. Boys, pick up an instrument and woo the ladies. Just pay a few sickles for each lesson and that's that. Come on now, you know you want to.


	13. In Which There Are Tricky Situations

**I have nothing to say here. That's an odd feeling for me.**

**Please let me know your thoughts and any criticism you might have. I'm here to improve my writing, after all. Or you can give me confidence to write more.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Blame any mistranslations of the French and Norwegian language on 'Google Translate'.<strong>

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><p>On the Thursday after Mike had visited Hagrid and convinced him to return to school, he could be found hanging by his fingertips from a second storey window of The Three Broomsticks. He was in a bit of a dilemma. Normally, he was able to just jump out of the window, after having thrown his shoes down first, then be on his way. However, the room that night was just above a pile of old crates and barrels which were sure to make a noise if Mike dropped down. He couldn't climb back up because it was taking all his strength to just hang there. Every time he tried lifting even a fraction, his shoulders and arms screamed in protest and he flopped back down again. Besides, Rosmerta had probably already locked the pub door so there was no other way out. Something had to be done soon though, because Mike's feet were getting cold. It was February and he'd just dropped his boots to the ground.<p>

He twisted his head round and noticed a small, scruffy-looking fox shifting through the crates. It disappeared behind a block of wood, then emerged clutching something bright green in it's teeth.

"That's my boot!" Mike gasped, then shut his mouth for fear of waking Georgia who was still sleeping. He glared down at the fox which was currently dragging the shoe across the ground. Mike kicked out his feet at it, a useless act from that far above it. "Psst!" he hissed in a low voice. "Psst! Shoo. Drop it. Those were expensive. Drop it! Don't you walk away from me! Don't you dare! Come back! Come- Argh!" When he had twisted his body round to see the fox slink off into the darkness, Mike's grip had come loose on the window ledge. He scrabbled to find a hold, any hold at all, but felt himself falling through the air and landing with an almighty crash in amongst the crates.

Lights came on all across the village at the noise and Mike took that as his cue to leave. He scrabbled through the bits of broken crates, located his other shoe and was just getting to his feet when he heard a voice say, "Mike?" He looked up and saw Georgia leaning out of the open window, wrapped in a thin sheet. The light from behind illuminated her figure, revealing her small, perky breasts. Mike stared at these, appreciating just how beautiful the female form was, and completely forgot that he was trying to sneak away.

"What are you doing down there?"

"Uh..."

"Did- Did you just just jump out the window?"

"Uh..."

"Why the hell would you do something like that?"

"Uh, I'll call you! No, I'll _owl_ you, sorry. I had a lovely time. Got to go, have an early lesson tomorrow. Bye!" Cursing his bad luck and clutching his one remaining shoe in his hand, Mike sprinted down street, out of the village and didn't slow down until he reached the castle.

When he reached the Entrance Hall, Mike paused to get his breath back. As he stood panting, he peeled off his socks which were now covered in grime from his run through the school grounds. His feet were quite dirty too, but there was nothing to be done about _that_ until he got back to his room. He stuffed his socks into his shoe then padded softly through the corridors back to his office, leaving faint footprints as he went.

He was walking along an empty corridor when the silent castle was suddenly filled with several loud clunks, followed by an ear-splitting screech which made Mike clamp his hands tightly over his ears. Wondering what was making the hideous noise, he turned and ran back to find the source of the commotion. What he found was a large, golden egg which had split open and was lying beside a tapestry which he knew concealed a staircase. Obviously, the egg had been dropped or thrown down the steps. Cringing at the noise, Mike put his shoe on the floor, picked up the egg and clicked it shut. The screaming ceased.

"PEEVES!" Mike jumped when he heard the voice of the caretaker, Argus Filch. Of _course_, the _poltergeist_ probably had dropped this egg down the stairs. "What was that racket? Wake up the whole castle, will you? I'll have you Peeves, I'll have you, you'll... Professor."

"Hello," Mike said, clutching the egg to his chest. "I found the source of the noise. This was dropped down the stairs."

Filch shuffled forward, his bug eyes widening. "But this is a Triwizard clue," he said, pointing a finger at the egg. He grinned, then yelled, "PEEVES! You've been stealing!" He ripped aside the tapestry and looked through. The poltergeist was nowhere to be seen. Muttering to Peeves, the caretaker started walking up the stairs. Mike followed, examining the egg as he went.

"Filch? What's going on?"

From halfway up the steps, Mike turned and saw that Severus, dressed in a grey nightshirt, was striding up the stairs. He wondered dimly if the guy had ever worn _anything_ with a bit of colour in it and resolved to buy him some bright yellow socks on his next birthday.

"Someone threw an egg down the stairs," Mike explained, holding the egg up as he did so.

"It was Peeves, Professor."

"Peeves? But Peeves couldn't get into my office..."

"Why was the egg in your office? Wouldn't the _champion_ need it?"

"The egg wasn't in my office, Michael. I heard banging and wailing-"

"Well that was the egg. See, there's this groove here, that's where it opens, and-"

"-I was coming to investigate-"

"Peeves threw it, Professor-"

"-And when I passed my office, I saw that the torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!"

"Maybe you should've locked it then."

"I seal my office with a spell none but a _wizard_ could break!" Snape snapped. Obviously he didn't like being woken up in the middle of the night by a screeching egg, only to be met with a poltergeist-obsessed caretaker and a talkative teenager. "I want you to come and help me search for the intruder, Filch."

"The thing is Professor," Filch said after a moment's thought. "The headmaster will have to listen to me this time. Peeves stole this egg from a champion and-" Filch reached out for the egg, but Mike held it away slightly. Filch would probably _never_ give it back and he needed to get it to the champion, whoever that may be. Maybe if it was Viktor, Mike could ask for an autograph in return. Maybe if it was Fleur, he could ask for a kiss- _'Teacher! Teacher! I'm a teacher!'_ Mike cringed and struggled to clear his head.

"Pyjama party, is it?" a voice growled. Mad-Eye had started walking up the stairs, his eyes flicking over the three of them. Then, for a fraction of a second, Mike noticed it rest on something behind them. But there wasn't anything behind them except an empty staircase. What on earth was Moody looking at- Oh. Mike's mind started clicking things together, figuring out just what was going on.

_Harry_ was here, under his invisibility cloak, and he had dropped his egg. Honestly, it seemed like that kid actually went _looking_ for trouble. While the other teachers started talking about Snape's office, and Snape and Moody scowled at each other a great deal, Mike surreptitiously turned his head a fraction and glanced up the steps. There was an enchanted stair just there which was very easy to get stuck in. Perhaps Harry had sunk into it and that's why he'd dropped the egg. Mike frowned at the step, then smiled and winked. Hopefully Harry would see and get the idea that he wasn't about to bust him. Instead, he turned back to the conversation. Moody was holding a piece of parchment which he had just summoned and Snape was looking at it very suspiciously.

"Potter," the potions master muttered. "Potter! That egg is Potter's egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognise it! Potter is here! Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!" He turned and started walking up the stairs, arms outstretched, searching for Harry. Thinking fast, Mike caught hold of his arm.

"Come off it, Severus," he said in a calm voice. "Mad-Eye! Can your _mad_ _eye_ see Mr Potter anywhere in this corridor? You can see through invisibility cloaks after all." He stared pointedly at Moody, trying to indicate that he knew Harry was there now and he'd be pleased if Moody would just go along with it.

Moody's magical eye flicked over Mike, then back up the stairs. Finally, he growled, "No. Nothing there. But I'll be happy to tell the Headmaster how quickly your mind turned to Harry Potter!" The two teachers started scowling and having a miniature argument again. Mike sighed and glanced back at where he thought Harry was, smiling.

"I think I will go back to bed," Snape said curtly.

"Good idea!" Mike said. "_I_ will take this egg and return it to whatever champion it belongs to. No, Filch. I think the champion needs it more than you do. Sorry. You'll get Peeves some day." The caretaker pouted, then he and Mrs Norris headed back down the steps. Mike stood in silence, blinking at Mad-Eye. When he was sure they were alone, he sighed.

"Close one, Harry," he muttered, looking round. "Mad-Eye, where is he?"

"Here," Mad-Eye said, limping past Mike and pulling something out of the step. Mike held out the egg.

"Thanks for that," Harry's voice said. A pair of hands appeared from nowhere, took the egg, then vanished again. It was actually very interesting to watch. "Professor, where are your shoes?"

Mike glanced down at his bare feet and shrugged. "A fox stole my Doc Marten," he said. "Nothing to worry about."

000

_Michael,_

_When you attend the second task tomorrow, please bring your musical instruments as well as any sheet music which you may require._

_Thank you_

_Professor Dumbledore_

Mike had found this note stuck to his office door when he'd left to see the second task. He found it very awkward walking down the stairs with his guitar in one hand and his cello in the other and wondered if there was anything which could perform a _locomotor_ charm for him. It might also help him get all his books to and from lessons without dropping them

Mike was quite pleased that morning because he had _finally_ convinced the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students in his class that he wanted to support _their_ champions too. The Durmstang students had given him a gold badge which declared, _'Jeg ønsker å suge Viktor Krum pikk'_. Apparently, it meant _'I support Viktor Krum to the end'_. The Beauxbatons students had made a badge which said, _'Regardez-moi! Je suis un connard!'_. This translated to, _'Go girl! You can do it!'_ Mike puffed out his chest as he walked past the audience, keen to show off his new accessories. Several of the foreign students gaped at them. Obviously they never would've expected him, a _Hogwarts_ teacher, to support their champions. Smiling, he got to the end of the stands and started taking out his cello. He still had no idea what was planned for him.

"Good morning, Professor," a voice said, making him turn. At the front of the crowds was Luna Lovegood. Luna was quickly becoming one of his favourite students. She was always asking questions about crumple-horned snorcacks during lessons and she let Mike borrow her issues of the Quibbler. He'd found them surprisingly enjoyable, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that they were full of crap. Also, she was the first person to ask for music lessons and it turned out she was a natural at the cello. Almost as good as Mike, but he'd never admit it.

"Morning, Luna. How are you?" said Mike, sitting next to her and beginning to tune his instrument.

"I'm good, thank you. Did you know your hair is bright red?"

"Yeah, I'm trying something. You like it?"

"It makes you look like a Rock-Toothed Meera."

Mike grinned. It was comments like these which made him appreciate Luna. "What's a Rock-Toothed Meera when it's at home?"

"It's a humanoid creature which is born without teeth, so it looks for sharp stones to press into its gums. It eats toads which it cooks by lighting a fire on it's head and roasting them. The hair of the Rock-Toothed Meera creates a vivid red flame, but the hair itself never burns away and the top of its skull is specially equipped to deal with the heat. They live in remote desert areas so not many people see them."

"Wow, that's fascinating."

"Really?" Luna's eyes widened even more at the teacher's words. "Most people just make fun of me when I tell them things like that. They call me Loony, you know. And they say that Rock-Toothed Meeras and Blibbering Humdingers don't exist."

Mike laughed. "Sometimes it's good to be a bit mad. Besides, muggles would say that giants and dragons don't exist. Who are _we_ to say what's real and what's not? Oh, look. I think Harry Potter slept in this morning. He's running a bit late."

Mike pointed out to the judges' table where Harry had just screeched to a halt and was now bent over, obviously gasping for air. There was a moment's talking between the judges, then Ludo Bagman's amplified voice filled the grounds.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One... Two... Three!" There was a shrill blast on the whistle and the four champions waded into the lake. Harry seemed to take the longest to do anything. He just stood waist-deep in the water for a while.

"What's he doing?" Mike asked, squinting out at him.

"It looks like he's eating something," Luna said. She was looking through a pair of binoculars so she had a clear view. "Maybe he's got a potion."

"Maybe it's a pot brownie so he doesn't feel so bad about not doing anything."

"What's a pot brownie?"

"Um... A pot brownie is a really really _tasty_ type of cake. _So_ tasty that you forget all your troubles. Look, there he goes!" Mike pointed out to the lake where Harry had just disappeared beneath the waves. "Wow. Isn't this fun? Yeah..." He looked around, wondering what would happen now. They had about an hour of doing nothing and, since they couldn't see through the water, it was impossible to know what the champions were doing. Really, they should've planned ahead. Some _entertainment_ should've been organised or some music... Oh no. They couldn't have... He hadn't had time to _prepare_ anything!

"Are you alright, Professor? You look nervous."

"Hang on Luna, let me just... Go over there." Mike hopped up and ran with his cello down to the judges. Dumbledore was just beginning to move, but stopped when Mike reached him.

"Sir, _please_ tell me I'm jumping to conclusions, but when I was told to bring my instruments was I expected to play music to entertain the students?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a smile. "We're going to have _you_ first, then the school choir will do some pieces they've been working on. A few of the Beauxbatons students and Durmstrang students also have some music they'd like to perform."

"But I'm not _prepared_!" Mike wailed, clutching his cello. "Why am _I_ first?"

"Well, you always said you wanted to be back on stage again," Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling. "You'll just warm the crowd up, Michael. I have the fullest confidence in you, don't worry." Ludo Bagman jogged up to them, his voice now back to normal.

"This the man?" he asked cheerily. "Splendid. It's Mike, isn't it? Dumbeldore said you're quite the musician. Well then, come with me. Love the hair." Whimpering slightly, Mike let himself be dragged out to a small stage which had been set up beside the judges. "It's been enchanted so any noise you make will be heard throughout the grounds. Off you go now, don't be nervous."

_If everyone can hear what's on this stage, then they'll hear that my heart's about to explode_, Mike thought, stumbling up the steps. A great hush fell over the audience as Bagmon announced him, but he didn't hear anything. His mind was churning through all the songs he knew, trying to think of one he could play. He wondered why he'd taken out his _cello_ instead of his guitar which was much easier to play. He wondered why he'd dyed his hair such a _ridiculous_ colour the previous night. He wondered how he could get his legs to stop shaking so much. He wondered what curses people would cast on him when they hated his music. He wondered what on earth he was going to _do_.

There was a burst of applause from the stands and Ludo left Mike alone on the stage. His mouth felt incredibly dry. He blinked, trying to remember a song he could play. Then a part in the back of his brain took over, and his body started moving of its own accord. He didn't need to think about _anything_ anymore. He was on stage again with an instrument, surrounded by people who would probably laugh at every opportunity. _This_ was where he belonged. He grinned, stepped forward, a plan forming in his mind.

"Who here likes quidditch?" he called out. A cheer went up around the stands and Mike started to bow his cello.

"Well this here's a little song about a guy I knew who played quidditch better than anyone in the country. I call it: _Quidditch Wizard_!"

"Ever since I was a young boy,  
>I've played with those four balls.<br>From Soho down to Brighton,  
>I must've played them all,<br>But I ain't seen nothing like him,  
>On any field or hall.<br>That deaf dumb and blind kid,  
>Played Quidditch better than them all!"<p>

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><p><strong>I don't know how it would sound on the cello, but: www (dot) youtube (dot) comwatch?v=4AKbUm8GrbM**


	14. In Which Mike Is A Good Friend

**Right, so any incorrect French in this chapter is entirely my own fault since I did all the translation. However, I'm pretty sure it's correct. Not that it's integral to the plot or anything...**

**Please let me know what you think and help me improve or encourage me to write more.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Tattoos are for life. If you get one, make sure it's amazing enough to stop people mid-thrust.<strong>

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><p>"Sorry things didn't work out between you and Madame Maxime, Hagrid," Mike said. "I'd never have thought she was one of those people who's ashamed of who they are."<p>

"S'not yer fault Mike," Hagrid assured him. The two of them were standing in Hagrid's garden, a few weeks after the second task had taken place. Hagrid was preparing something for his fourth years who would be starting on nifflers. He had been digging up a mound of earth so he could bury coins in it the next morning and Mike, who had offered to help but been turned down, was playing with one of the nifflers.

"No, but I should've found out about that," Mike was saying as he dangled an old watch in front of the fluffy animal's face and let it jump up at it happily. "Stupid mistake, really. Ah, well."

"I don't think I'm cut ou' fer romance," Hagrid sighed, shaking his shaggy head. "I'll jus' stick ter my job an' my animals."

"Hmm..." Mike sat in silence for a moment, letting the niffler run in circles around him. Then he saw something which made him smile. "I'm going to put this one back with the others." Mike pocketed the watch, then scooped the small, furry creature up into his arms and walked round to the other side of Hagrid's cabin. When he was out of sight, he ducked down and peered round the side of the building to watch what was happening.

Madame Maxime had just gotten out of the Beauxbatons carriage and walked over to talk to Hagrid. She stood on the opposite side of the fence to him, her jewelled hands clasped in front of her, her dark eyes sparkling. She was actually very pretty, even with her giant blood. It was understandable why Hagrid had fallen for her. Mike squinted, trying to make out what she was saying. Hagrid was leaning on his shovel and, to Mike's annoyance, was being very terse. He strained to hear what was going on, but his highly tuned ears which usually picked things up so easily couldn't make out a word. All he could hear was a strange _shoof-shoof-shoof_ noise. _Shoof-shoof-shoof-shoof-shoof_.

"Dammit, it's _you_," Mike muttered, holding the niffler away slightly. It's face had been up by his right ear and its breathing had drowned out all other sounds. He glanced up again, determined to hear what the two were saying to each other, but it was too late. Madame Maxime was already climbing back into the carriage. With a grunt of displeasure, Mike shifted the niffler so its face was by his left ear, then moved back out to Hagrid.

"What was _that_?" he asked pointedly.

"Nothin'." Hagrid said. "She's tryin' ter get inter my good books again. She just came askin' about the third task. As if I'd tell her straight off. Wha' does she think I am, eh?"

Mike glanced out at the Beauxbatons carriage, wondering what the conversation had _actually_ been about. He was sure that, deep down, Hagrid was hurt by Madame Maxime brushing him off and not talking to him back around the Christmas holidays. Of course, that article hadn't helped matters. He just had a stoney exterior, that was all. Maybe Mike could go and see Madame Maxime, to find out what had gone on, and-

"Ouch! Get it off! _Get it off!"_ The niffler which Mike had been holding had just bitten into his ear. Muttering an oath, Hagrid dropped his shovel and leapt forward. Carefully taking hold of the niffler's upper and lower jaw, he slowly forced them apart. Mike gasped and jerked away, his ear throbbing with pain.

"I thought ye said ye'd taken all yer piercings out!" said Hagrid, hurrying to put the niffler back with the rest of them.

"I thought I _had!_" Mike protested, reaching up to his ear and wincing. It seemed he'd left one stud on the upper shell of his ear and the niffler had gone for it. Luckily, it seemed that all that had happened was he'd sustained a nasty cut. Nothing had come off anyway. Good, he could still go see Madame Maxime. Grinning, Mike walked out of Hagrids garden.

"Wait! Don't yeh want me ter sort yer ear?" Hagrid called.

"No! No, I'm good, thanks. See you tomorrow!"

000

Mike knocked on the carriage door, then stood back and waited. After a few minutes, it was opened by a blonde boy in pale blue robes. He was one of the students Mike taught, so he smiled in recognition.

"Hi, Françoise. Is Madame Maxime in? I'd like to talk to her."

"Oh, yes. Of course Professor. Please wait zere." He turned and headed off into the carriage. Mike could here him say, "Madame Maxime. Le professeur bizarre est ici. Il voudrait parler avec vous."

"Mais bien sûr, Françoise."

There were footsteps, then Fraçoise reappeared in the door and opened it wider. Mike grinned and stepped into the carriage. It had been enchanted so that the inside was bigger than the outside and it was full of pieces of furniture made from finely polished wood. Mike looked round, admiring the decor. It was really rather nice. Trust the French to do things properly.

"Um... Professor Smitt. What 'appened to your ear? Eet is... Bleeding."

Mike raised a hand to his face and felt something warm and sticky dribbling down the side of his head. "Oh, just a niffler bite. Nothing to worry about. Now, Madame Maxime... She's in here?" Mike stopped at a door which said 'Headmistress' on the door and knocked.

"Entrez."

Mike stepped through into a lightly coloured room with a large desk at one end where Madame Maxime was sitting. She smiled at him. "You are, Michael, oui? 'Agrid told me about you."

"Is that a fact?" Mike said, moving to stand in front of the desk, but not sitting down. "Well... Hagrid's what I want to talk to you about actually."

Madame Maxime's face darkened and she turned away slightly. "I 'ave nothing to say about 'im. I tried to talk to 'im earlier and 'e did not respond-"

"That's 'cos you talked about the third task," Mike interrupted. "And that's why I'm here. Now, Hagrid's a good friend of mine and I want to know how _you_ feel about him. You two were very close when you first got here and you seemed to be getting along at the Yule Ball. But now you two have fallen out and _nothing_ seems likely to get you back together." He paused, thinking of how to word his next sentence, then said, "Madame Maxime, I want to know if you genuinely had affection for Hagrid or if you just used him to get a leg up in the Triwizard Tournament."

"'Ow _dare_ you accuse me of such zings," Madame Maxime said, incensed. "I do not _use_ people!"

"Well then, you must genuinely like Hagrid."

"I-"

"In which case I suggest you _think_ a bit about how you're acting. Look, he was really cut up about that Daily Prophet article and I know he won't admit it, but he hated you not talking to him even _more_. If you like him, I think you could maybe just have a normal conversation and talk things through. Be friends if nothing else. Or at least get to a point where you don't hate each other. He's a nice guy and his heart's in the right place, I don't want to have to watch him beat himself up. Please, just think about it. Think about your feelings for him and- And _talk_ to him. Straighten things out. I'm sorry for taking up your time. Good night, Madame Maxime. Wish Fleur luck on the Third Task."

Mike turned to leave, but just as he was at the door, Madame Maxime called, "Wait." He paused and the French headmistress got to her feet and walked up to him. "Let me fix your ear for you first. _Episkey_. _Scourgify_." Mike felt a warm sensation over his ear, then smiled in thanks, said good bye and opened the door.

"I was not trying to get information on ze final task," she said softly, making Mike freeze. "I was just trying to talk to 'Agrid. I know 'e likes magical creatures so I talked to 'im about ze dragons from ze First Task. I was not thinking and I mentioned ze Third Task too. 'E thought I wanted 'im to tell me what was coming."

Mike looked back at her, trying to work out whether or not she was lying. It was hard to tell. He _wanted_ her to be telling the truth, that was for sure. Sighing, he reached out and patted her arm. "Things'll get better."

He turned and walked out of the office, out of the carriage, and into the grounds. The evenings were growing longer now, but the sky was already darkening. Mike glanced at his watch. He had time for a trip to the Three Broomsticks. He'd reward himself for being such a good friend to Hagrid.

000

"You mean there haven't been _any_ single women in the bar _all night_? Not even _one_?"

"No. It's been slow. There _have_ been a few couples, though."

Mike thought for a moment, then shook his head. He didn't have the time nor the energy to try and get a threesome going. He sighed and leant against the bar. Rosmerta clicked her tongue in annoyance. She couldn't _believe_ it had actually got to the stage where Mike had her looking for prospective one night stands for him. Well tonight he was out of luck, clearly.

"Sorry Mike," she said with a shrug. "The only person who's here alone is that man there at the end of the bar." She jerked her head backward to where a short, blonde man with a thin build was reading a book and nursing a drink. Mike sighed. This was no good at all.

Or _was_ it? Mike suddenly remembered the night so long ago when he'd had the threesome with Dave. He had been embarrassed about it and said it was nothing he'd do again, but know that he thought about it... Why _couldn't_ he do it again? It had been _fun_! What did he care about what anyone _else_ thought. He was _already_ a womaniser, may as well become a _man_iser as well.

"Rosmerta," Mike said,thinking hard. "What are those green drinks which are really small and you drink them in a oner?"

"Mandrake tequila?"

"One mandrake tequila, please."

Rosmerta handed him the drink. Mike took a deep breath, then threw his head back and gulped down the liquid. He gasped as it burned in his throat, then shook his head to clear it. With that, he strolled down and sat in the seat next to the man.

"What are you reading?" he asked casually, glancing over.

The man looked up. He had warm brown eyes which seemed to swirl down to black depths. Mike locked gazes with him, smiling.

"It's a muggle book," the man said, holding it up. "_'Anna Karenina'_. It's very good."

"What's it about?" Mike asked, leaning over to read the back cover.

From behind the bar, Rosmerta shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't believe it. She'd seen Mike work his powers on different girls every week since he first arrived and now it seemed he had moved onto men as well. She watched the moves which she had seen a hundred times before. A laugh; a comment; brushing his arm against the other person; and always that long, lingering gaze. It worked wonders. The man tonight was talking very interestedly to Mike, their heads close together. She knew what would happen next. Mike would ask for...

"Could I have a Firewhiskey please, Rosmerta?"

"Make that two."

"I'll buy his as well. You don't mind, do you Cameron?"

"Of course not. Just let me buy the next one."

The two sat talking and drinking for a good while and the bar slowly emptied. Their voices got quieter and quieter and they leaned closer and closer into each other. It was like this each time. After a long silence, Mike moved his head very close and murmured something softly into Cameron's ear. Cameron blushed and looked at Mike who hit him with the full force of his 'come hither' look. Cameron whispered something back, then the two got to their feet and walked out of the room to the stairs which led up to the inn's bedrooms.

Neither of them said a word as they climbed the stairs. Neither of them said a word as Cameron fished out his room key and opened the door. Neither of them said a word as the door was locked behind them. Neither of them said a word for a long second.

Finally, Cameron murmured, "I- I've never done something like this before, Mike. I don't know if-" His next words were cut off by Mike taking his face in his hands and kissing him.

There is a special stone, found only in Tibet, which has several quite interesting properties. When ground up and added to Essence of Euphoria, it causes the drinker to experience not only mental pleasure, but physical pleasure. When burned, it gives off red smoke which spirals upwards in appealing shapes. And when it comes into contact with more than one type of saliva at the same time it sends out strange, imperceptible, shimmering waves which course through living, human flesh. This stone was what Mike's tongue stud was made of. When he kissed someone, the waves which the stone sent out caused shivers of pleasure to flutter through both his and his companion's bodies. It was these shivers of pleasure which sent any doubts from Cameron's mind.

000

Rosmerta shut up the bar, locked the doors and stacked the chairs with a flick of her wand. Then, with a yawn, she headed upstairs to her room. She was just passing through the first-floor corridor when she heard something which made her feel incredibly awkward.

"The tattoo -Uh- The Tattoo is distracting me. Uh!"

"What do you -Ah- mean?"

"It's just -Ng- odd seeing it. The one on your b- back. Wh-Uh-y do you have a -Uh- tattoo of a -Uh- Is that a mermaid? Or a dragon? And is that -Ng- _you_ in the bubble?"

"Long story- Ah!"

"But it's distracting-"

"Ignore it! J- Just ignore it! Please! Ah, fuck! Wha-Ah-tever you do, just don't -Ah- stop! J- J- Just keep going! Yes! Yes, keep doing that! Keep doing tha- Ah- Ah- AAAAAAAH! YES! YES! AH! AH! AH! FUCK! AH!"

Flustered, Rosmerta cast a sound-blocking charm on the door. She'd hate for Mike to wake up the rest of the inn then for _her_ to have to explain to the other guests what was going on. Hurriedly, she went back to her room, but she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she heard Mike's exclamations and saw him and Cameron having sex. This was the first time she'd actually been able to _hear_ him, even though it was only for a short while, and it creeped her out. Rosmerta lay on her back long into the night, staring up at the ceiling. Just what _was_ that tattoo which had been so distracting?


	15. In Which The Third Task Takes Place

**Fun story for you.**

**Around where I live, all the schools are religious. I go to a Methodist school, despite being a raging atheist. Now, when we have Christian Education, generally I just sleep in the back row, but recently we've moved on to the very exciting topic of _Sex and Relationships_! Today we had whole lesson of watching a video where a woman yelled about how sex with more than one person is _wrong_! Sex outside of marriage is _wrong_! You can get _pregnant_! You can get _diseases_! Oh, the diseases!**

**So let me assure you, Mike uses protection (both muggle and magical) when he has sex and _you_ should too.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: When a teenager says they've translated something for you, always double-check that it means what you wanted it to mean. Because teenagers are mean and think mistranslations are funny.<strong>

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><p>"No, you see you always mess up that bar. Your fingers want to move too much. Just tell them to keep still and you'll do fine. Try again, go on."<p>

Ron sighed, ducked his head and, tongue clamped between his teeth, strummed the first few notes again. "Why am I playing 'A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love'?" he asked after a discordant twang on his strings caused Mike to wince. This was Ron's fifth guitar lesson and he hadn't made much improvement. Actually, he hadn't made _any_ improvement at all. Sometimes it seemed like he was getting a bit _worse_. Still, it was early days so Mike had the fullest confidence in him. Also, the guitars which Minerva had conjured for these lessons weren't exactly _top quality_, not that he'd ever tell her that.

"Do you not like Celestina Warbeck?" Mike asked cheerily. Ron scowled and the teacher sighed. He got up from his chair and went to his bookcase where he kept various song books and started rifling through it. Maybe he could find something better in here. As he looked, there was a knock on his office door.

"Would you get that for me, Ron?" Mike asked, leafing through, 'Easy Songs for Numpties'. Ron put his guitar down and moved over to the door. He peered out and found Madame Rosmerta, the curvy barmaid from the Three Broomsticks, holding a paper bag.

"Hello," she said. "Is this Michael Smitt's office?"

"Y- Yeah," Ron said, blushing slightly. He'd always nursed a soft spot for Madame Rosmerta.

"Well I've got something for him. Can I come in?"

"Uh... Sure." Ron stepped back and let the barmaid into the room. He opened his mouth to tell Professor Smitt about Rosmerta, then halted. The office was empty.

"Professor?" he called, looking around in confusion. "Sorry... He was here a second ago. Must have gone to get something. He's uh... He's teaching me the guitar. I'm quite good."

"Yes, he mentioned giving kids music lessons," Rosmerta smiled, moving over to the desk. "Well, when he comes back, just tell him Madame Rosmerta dropped by to-"

"Rosmerta?"

The two looked up at the voice and saw Professor Smitt's head peering at them from the window. This was surprising, since they were on the second floor. Rosmerta dropped the paper bag onto the desk and ran to the window which Mike was climbing through. She looked out and found that there was a ledge running around the building, a couple of feet below the window, and just big enough for a skinny teenager to hide from view if he hunched over.

"Sorry about that," Mike was saying as he clambered over the sill. "Force of habit."

"Jumping out of the window when you have guests is a force of habit?" Rosmerta asked, trying and failing to frown.

Mike laughed. "I jump out of the window when a girl turns up who says she 'has something for me'. You'd be surprised how often the something is a hex."

"I don't think I would. Some of the girls stick around until the next day, you know, and the things they say, I really-"

Mike coughed loudly and moved across to Ron who had been trying to listen in without being noticed. He opened '100 Songs for Beginners' to 'The March of the Hippogriff' and pressed it into the boy's hands. "Try playing that," he told him. "Uh... Out here." He grabbed Ron's arm and shoved him unceremoniously out into the hall.

"What?" Ron spluttered, feeling immensely put out.

"You play beautifully. We should let the entire school hear you. Here's a stand!" A music stand was thrown out of the office, landing with a clatter at Ron's feet, then the door slammed and he was left alone. Confused, Ron stood in silence for a good few minutes. Then, Professor Smitt's voice called out, "I don't hear music!" Turning beetroot, Ron hurriedly set up his music stand and started to twang the guitar strings.

From inside the office, Mike straightened up from his position by the door, and turned to smile at Rosmerta. "Well, what is it you were kind enough to bring me?" As an answer, Rosmerta pointed to the paper bag. Mike hurried over, peeled back the bag's opening and pulled out...

"My Doc! Oh, I've been missing this. That stupid fox stole it, you know. Quite a while ago actually... In February. Man, is it June already? Time flies. Anyway, this things seems to be good as new. Bit dirty, but I can fix that. Thanks Rosmerta I can't believe- What the fuck is this stuff?" Wedged inside his beautiful, slightly scruffy boot were an assortment of objects which could only be described as: crap. Nose crinkling at the disgustingness of it, Mike started picking out the odds and ends which now filled his shoe.

Rosmerta sighed. "Yes, it seems a fairy was using it to horde things. They do that sometimes."

Mike nodded, pulling out a pair of long, striped socks and deciding that he'd give them to Severus. Or Dobby. Whoever he saw first. He placed them on the desk next to the tin can, the pebbles, the corks tied to a piece of string, and the rusty knut. Finally, he pulled out a chipped sneakascope which had been wedged right down at the toe and started to spin it. To Mike's great pleasure, it seemed to still work.

"Thank you so much for bringing me this," he said, straightening up. "How can I _ever_ repay you?"

"You can stop picking up all those people in my bar," Rosmerta said, moving to the door. "I'd like to have a _few_ return customers."

Mike grinned. "Consider it done." Immediately, the sneakascope gave off a high-pitched whistle. "Well what do you know? It _does_ still work! Goodbye, Rosmerta. See you soon." With that, Mike threw open the door into the corridor. Ron, who had been trying to convince Padma Patil that she should stick around and listen to him play a song, jumped and nearly dropped his instrument. Padma gave an unkind giggle and swept off down the corridor with her Ravenclaw friends. Rosmerta followed. Ron looked thoroughly put out. Mike chuckled.

"Some advice," he said, leading the student back into his office. "Wait until you can play something _other_ than nursery rhymes, _then_ try to impress girls."

000

On the evening of the Third Task, Mike was standing at the front of the teacher's section of the stands, peering through a set of golden binoculars. From his position up in the stands it was easy to see all the twist and turns of the hedges, as well as the magical creatures and enchantments in the maze. Mike recognised acromantula, bundimuns, erklings, sphinxes, and one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts. When he saw _that_, he wondered whether he should have told Harry to throw up on it when he'd seen him that morning.

It had been a very pleasant day, all in all. He'd had to give an exam to his fourth years, but most of them seemed to handle it. Then Fred and George had grabbed him on his way down to lunch and introduced him to their mother and older brother, Bill. He'd got on with Bill, but things could have gone better with Mrs Weasley. It seemed she had seen him earlier that year, when he still worked in the Leaky Cauldron. Apparently, he'd almost run into her when he'd been trying to get away from 'that blonde girl who was yelling and firing spells left, right and centre'. The twins had been very interested to hear more of this story, but Mike had hurriedly changed the topic.

Now, Mike looked up from the maze at all of the stands, recognising a lot of people. There, in the Durmstrang stands, were a few of his students. Varenka was having an argument with Anton Poliakoff, whilst several others laughed at them. In the Beauxbatons stands, he saw more students he recognised from class. The Chaumont siblings, Claude and Mathilde, were standing at the front of the stands and cheering wildly. Beside them, Fraçoise Beauchamp was reading, not particularly interested in the pre-task frenzy. Mike's gaze drifted over the stands, people popping out at him every so often. He spotted Luna, sitting at the edge of one stand, clapping politely. The Slytherins, Draco at the front of them, were performing a cheer which sounded suspiciously like: Potter's gonna snuff it. One stand was packed with the Weasley family, their red hair sticking out like a sore thumb, with Hermione in amongst them. Mike noticed they were all wearing his blue 'Support Harry Potter' badges and grinned. He lowered his binoculars and joined in with the cheers.

"Go Cedric Diggory, the real Hogwarts champion! Go Harry Potter, the other, equally important Champion! _Regardez-moi! Je suis un connard! Jeg ønsker å suge Viktor Krum pikk!_"

"Michael!" Septima Vector had been walking past and was now gaping at him. "What on _earth_ did you just say?"

Mike grinned and pointed to his badges. "Some of my students gave me some cheers for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," he explained. "Just some little phrases. _'Regardez-moi! Je suis un connard!'_ That means, 'Go girl! You can do it!' Then there's this one,_ 'Jeg ønsker å suge Viktor Krum pikk!'_ That means 'I support Viktor Krum to the end!' It was really rather nice of them, don't you think?"

Septima had placed her hands to her mouth and was smiling, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "I think you should take the badges off, Mike," she said. "That's _not_ what they mean."

"Really? What _do_ they mean, then?"

"They mean-"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice echoed through the stadium, cutting Septima off. Mike leaned forward in his seat, not paying attention to what Bagman was saying and quite forgetting what Septima had said about his badges. He was watching the champions. Harry seemed to be nervous, he was hopping from one foot to another. Cedric was gripping his wand tightly and glancing round at the audience. Viktor was standing with his arms folded, as though he had a _million_ other things he'd rather be doing. Fleur looked just as lovely as ever. Just as tall and lithe as ever. Just as pretty and dazzling and sexy and- Mike shook his head, muttering "Teacher, teacher, teacher" to himself. As he was doing that, there was a blast of a whistle and Harry and Cedric entered the maze. Mike pulled out his binoculars, watching them wander through the hedges. Soon, there was another whistle and Viktor entered. Then there was a third whistle and all four champions was in the maze.

"Yeah go left, there's nothing on that path, Harry. No Fleur! That's a griffin, look out! Ooh, thought she'd had it then! Harry's still doing okay... Viktor, on your left! Oh, wow! What amazing spellwork! Look out Cedric, that's a Blast-Ended Skrewt! Vomit on it! Vomit on it! Or run away... That's good too..."

"Professor Smitt?"

"Yes Madame Pomfrey? Wow, nice patronus!"

"Are you going to keep up this commentary throughout the entire task? It's rather distracting."

"Oh, sorry Poppy. I'll try to- Ooh, Harry! It's limbo mist! Walk through it! Walk through it! _That's_ my boy!"

Madame Pomfrey sighed and turned back to the task. It was mostly enjoyable, and she managed to filter out the History of Magic teacher's exclamations and comments. When Fleur Delacour was carried out of the maze, she immediately got to her feet and ran to the medical tent, pulling out her wand.

"Unconscious," she said when Hagrid had placed the girl on a bed. "And a few bruises. Nothing a bit of rest won't fix, I'm sure."

"Is she alright? is she 'urt?" Madame Maxime had abandoned her seat by Professor Karkaroff and was now leaning over her student, hands clasped in front of her. "Zank you, 'Agrid. You got 'er out of ze maze before something could attack 'er."

"Weren't nothin'," Hagrid mumbled. From the stands, Mike grinned to himself. He knew that when Hagrid brought Fleur Delacour to the tent then he and Madame Maxime could talk. That's why he'd told Hagrid to look out for the Beauxbatons, after all. Hagrid had been a bit confused, but hopefully he'd be grateful now. Mike went back to watching the maze and had to bite his tongue to stop laughing. Viktor Krum was being carried out of the maze too. Perhaps Harry and Cedric had jinxed him to ensure a Hogwarts victory. Mike shifted his position and looked through the binoculars again.

"Huh, a sphinx. Might be a problem. Think logically, Harry. You're friends with Hermione, shouldn't be too hard. Cedric, it's a kelpie! Quick, quick! _Do_ something! I don't know what you're meant to do with kelpies, but... There we go, very good. A Placement Charm, that's right. And Harry's still with the sphinx... And Cedric's running... Harry's with the sphinx... Cedric's running... Harry's past the sphinx! And he and Cedric are running and... Giant spider! _Giant spider_! Oh! Oh no! _No_! Ooh, that had to hurt! Get it, Harry! Do something, Cedric! Ow! Oof. Eeh! Yes! NOW GET THE CUP! No Cedric, the cup's _that_ way. Huh. So you're just talking... Oh... Aw, that's cute. They're grabbing it together, how nice. And... What? What the _fuck_?" Mike squinted through his binoculars at the centre of the maze, then looked up. It seemed the rest of the teachers had stopped watching the maze themselves and were instead listening to Mike's commentary. Dumbledore looked at him in puzzlement.

"Did they get the cup?" he asked, concernedly. Mike nodded.

"Uh... I'm just gonna double-check... The cup... Is it meant to... Er, is it meant to _disappear_ like that?"

Immediately, Dumbledore got to his feet and swept out of the stands, closely followed by Snape and Cornelius Fudge who had taken the evening off to watch the task. Mike looked back through his binoculars to see what was going on. All around the stadium, mutterings could be heard. Other people had been watching and were wondering where the two Hogwarts champions had gone, along with the cup. In the Durmstrang stands, Varenka and Poliokoff were looking at everyone else suspiciously. In the Beauxbatons stands, the Chaumont siblings were whispering and pointing into the maze. Fraonçoise had disappeared, probably gone to see if Fleur was okay. The Weasleys were a mixed bunch. Mrs Weasley looked concerned, the twins were shrugging, Ron and Hermione were looking confused. Luna was looking through her own binoculars at the sky, not paying attention to the task. The Slytherins were keeping up their anti-Harry Potter chant. Dumbledore was conversing with the other headmasters, then turned and said something to Severus who nodded. The look on Dumbledore's face couldn't have meant anything good. Mike gulped, then started to suck on his lip ring.

000

Mike didn't know how long Harry and Cedric and the cup had been gone for. All he knew was that something was up and he couldn't _do_ anything about it. People in all the stands were beginning to freak out, despite being told not to panic. Dumbledore was talking to Snape and Minerva, whilst Moody was looking at everyone suspiciously. Karkaroff and Maxime were seeing to their students. The Weasleys and Hermione were panicking, and so were Cedric's parents for that matter. Meanwhile, Mike was standing at the foot of the stands, hopping from one foot to another, feeling utterly at a loss.

Every so often another teacher would pass by. Mike would look at them, then receive a look back which told him that nothing else had happened. The cup and the boys had both vanished. They had no idea _who_ had set the portkey or _where_ it had taken them. There was no news. Every time this happened, Mike felt his stomach give an unpleasant lurch. He desperately wanted to know if the students were alright.

It had reached a point where Mike thought that he might go crazy that a sudden yelp came out of the crowd of teachers.

"What?" he said, turning towards the noise. What had happened? What was going on? All around him, people were moving, some people were even screaming from the midst of the crowd. Mike looked round in desperation, trying to work out what was being said. All he could hear was a babble of noise. He stood on tiptoes, looking over the other people's heads, trying to find out what was happening. At first, he couldn't make anything out. Then, his sensitive ears picked up the sound of Cornelius Fudge's voice.

"My God - Diggory! Dumbledore - he's dead!"


	16. In Which Birthdays Are Contemplated

**My computer (or fanfiction . net, I'm not sure which) is being stupid at the moment and it won't let me edit, so if this author's note sucks then I apologise profusely. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Please let me know what you think. Criticism to help me improve, or praise to give me an ego boost, all is good.**

**Oh, also, I need some new tunes. How's about all you guys out there recommend some good music for me to try? Something to get my heart racing and my feet tapping.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Demon horses are cute, don't let anyone tell you otherwise..<strong>

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><p>Mike looked round his office for the last time that year, then stepped into the hall and clicked the door shut. He stood staring at the wood for a second. There was a bronze plaque saying 'Michael Smitt: History of Magic Professor' which had been magically stuck to the door. Earlier in the year, somebody (Mike never found out who) had drawn a stick figure in the bottom left corner. The stick figure had large spikes coming out of his head, was clutching a bottle of Firewhiskey and was sticking its middle finger up. Mike thought it was appropriate. He looked at the figure, sighed, then started to walk down the corridor, dragging his trunk behind him.<p>

It had certainly been an eventful first year as Hogwarts Professor. The Triwizard tournament, meeting everyone here, helping out Hagrid, then Cedric Diggory's death and Voldemort's return. He'd never actually met Cedric, but any death was horrible. He'd been feeling blue all through the leaving feast, which had been decorated with black in Cedric's memory. Then there was the fact that Voldemort was back... That was just awful to even think about. Mike guessed that there'd have to be a lot of changes taking place to prepare for that. If the ministry actually accepted his return of course, which was incredibly unlikely. Maybe Mike could help Dumbledore out in some way, he could convince people that You-Know-Who was back or something. He was only a squib, of course, but there had to be something he could do. Anything to help prepare.

"Hello Professor."

Mike had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he walked straight past Varenka without even noticing her. She had to grab his arm to get him to stop.

"Oh, hello," he said, breaking into a smile. "You off to the ship?"

"Yes, but I vanted to talk to you first." Varenka stopped, looking awkward, then pulled Mike through a tapestry into a hidden corridor. Mike followed, wondering what she wanted to say. "It... It is about your... Your badge, for Krum."

"Oh!" Mike said. "You mean the one Anton Poliakoff made me? The one saying, 'I support Viktor Krum to end'?"

Varenka nodded. "Yes. I vanted to say... Vell... It does not mean vhat you think it means."

"Oh yeah... Someone mentioned that, but I didn't pay attention. What does it mean?" He smiled brightly, but Varenka didn't look at him.

"It means... It means... My English is not good, Professor. It means, 'I vant to...' 'I vant to'... I do not know the vord. 'I vant to'-" (She muttered something in Norweigan.) "-'Viktor Krum's... pikk'."

Mike blinked. "Come again?"

Varenka sighed. She hadn't wanted to have to do this, but... Wordlessly, she brought her hand up to her face and did a strange motion. Her hand made the shape of an 'O', then moved back and forth towards her mouth which was hanging open. Mike watched this mime with a scowl, then nodded.

"Right. So basically, I have been wearing a badge, and yelling a slogan, which means 'I want to suck Viktor Krum's cock'?"

"If that is the vord, then yes. I am sorry, I vanted to tell you but Poliakoff said not to."

"Yeah, well... Poliakoff can suck _my_ cock." Mike was scowling, but Varenka giggled.

"I vill miss you at Durmstrang. You vere one of my favourite teachers," Varenka smiled. She had a chip in her front tooth which gave her a strangely rough-around-the edges appearance. Mike liked to think that this, combined with her pale skin and blonde hair, made her look like a princess who'd fallen on hard times.

"Well, you were certainly one of my favourite students," Mike told her, lying through his teeth. Varenka wasn't a smart girl and it took ages for Mike to get a fact into her head. And even then she usually forgot it the next day. Still, she was leaving in a minute so he didn't want to say anything bad to her.

"I vill miss you, Professor Smitt," Varenka said, looking down at her feet. Mike opened her mouth to say he'd miss her too, but was interrupted by the Durmstrang girl standing on tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. Mike stood blinking in confusion. For the first few seconds all he was able to think was, 'she's wearing cherry lip gloss'. Then he got his bearings and took a hasty step back.

"Whoa! Whoa! Time out, Varenka. Uh... Hello. I'm sorry, but... I have certain _rules_ about this sort of thing and one of them is that I don't... Well, not with my students."

Varenka smiled, tossing her hair. "But professor, I am not _your_ student. I haff left Hogvarts now. I am a Durmstrang student again."

Mike paused, thinking hard. Would that count? He supposed _technically_ she wasn't a student anymore. And he wouldn't see her again for a while, if at all. Aw hell, it was the last day of school. He was leaving for the holidays now, anyway. Not thinking for another moment, Mike stepped forward and kissed Varenka. His tongue stud sent out the familiar waves of pleasure and Mike heard the familiar gasp as the waves flickered through his and Varenka's bodies. The Durmstrang student wrapped her arms around his neck and, in a flash of dominance which he found incredibly enjoyable, pushed him against the wall.

000

"Well, we're never going to get the money back _now_, are we?" George sighed. "Stupid git."

"Goblins play dirty, I guess," Fred shrugged. "We have to hurry, the carriages will arrive soon. Come on." He pulled aside a tapestry that concealed a hidden passage leading down to the entrance hall, then halted. In front of them, Professor Smitt was in the middle of snogging a Durmstrang girl. As they watched, their tongues danced together and the girl gave small moans every so often. Mike slowly shifted his hands up her back, round to her stomach, then brushed his fingers lightly over her breasts. The girl's hands inched down Mike's neck, along his back, then slipped into his jeans.

Turning slightly pink, the twins let the tapestry swing back into place. As they did so, Mike yelped, "Hey, Varenka! Sorry, but one of my rules is that the trousers stay on in public places!"

"Maybe we were too hasty to drop History of Magic," George said, still staring at the tapestry.

"I've been thinking exactly the same thing."

000

A while later, Varenka Scherbatsky strode out into the Entrance Hall, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She marched down the stone steps, across the grounds and into the Durmstrang ship, not once looking back. If anyone were to ask her how she'd enjoyed Hogwarts, she'd say that it was an enjoyable visit. The lessons were good, the people were nice, and the teacher's knew exactly how to help her achieve her best.

After Varenka had left, Mike sauntered into the, now empty, Hall. His hair was a bit skew-wiff and his shirt was untucked, but he hurriedly fixed this as he walked. All he had to do was get down to the train, then get home and that would be that. Nothing to do until the holidays were over. When he glanced out of the door, he saw that there was one carriage left at the bottom of the steps. Thanking whatever cosmic forces had kept it there, Mike hurried towards it, his trunk clunking on the stone steps.

"Hello Professor," a voice said, making him turn. Luna Lovegood was walking down the steps too, her trunk in one hand. She smiled at him in her usual, dreamy way.

"Hi," Mike said, waiting for Luna to catch up and then falling into step beside her. "What took you so long to get out of there, then?"

"Oh, people took some of my clothes and I had to find them," Luna said. "They do that, you know. They think it's funny. I might have left some of them, but one of them was a new set of robes. My father gave them to me for my birthday and I didn't want him to think I didn't like them."

"Huh..." Mike glanced round at her, wondering what to say next. "People are pricks, Luna. D'you know who it was?"

Luna shook her head. "It could be anyone."

Mike nodded, scowling. "So... New robes, huh? When was your birthday?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Really? What a coincidence, it's _mine_ in two weeks time. Did you get a lot of presents?"

"Well, those robes from my father," Luna said. "And a few books from my grandparents which look very interesting, but I haven't had a chance to read them yet. That's about it. People don't really celebrate my birthday. I don't think any of the students knew about it."

Mike was silent, looking at Luna thoughtfully. Suddenly, he had a vivid recollection of his own birthday, several years ago.

000

The fist barrelled into Mike's stomach, making his eyes water in pain. He bit his lip to stop from crying out and clenched his fists. He knew that any sound he made would cause more blows. Behind him, a gleeful voice said, "Ten!" In front of him, Henry MacPherson drew back his thick, gnarled fist, then sent it swooping back into Mike's abdomen. Mike wheezed and hunched forward, but Alex Saunders tightened his grip on his arm and forced him upright.

"Eleven," Alex said, grinning widely. "That's one for every year. How about one more for luck, Henry? Think you got it in ya?"

Henry guffawed, rubbing his knuckles. "Yeah. Here's one more for luck, birthday boy." Mike closed his eyes and felt tears dribble down his face. He clenched his fists and set his jaw, preparing for the blow. His stomach felt awful. His legs were shaking. He had blood pounding in his ears. He'd just gone out to the shops to buy some comics with his birthday money, that was all. Just a couple of comics. Then, because it was a nice day, he'd walked back home through the park. That was when Henry MacPherson and Alex Saunders had run into him. They didn't like Mike, they'd made that clear years ago. Since they knew it was his birthday, they'd taken it upon themselves to give him his birthday punches. Alex had grabbed his arm in such a tight grip it was impossible to move. Henry had been delivering blows to Mike's stomach over and over. Mike had tried to get away, but he was short and skinny, whereas these two were built like tree trunks. He never had a chance.

He didn't suppose anybody could see them either. They were just off the main field area where people were playing games and walking their dogs. There was a large hedge blocking them from view. Nobody could have seen the small, brown-haired boy, being beaten to a pulp by the two trolls.

_Just one more_, Mike told himself firmly. _Just one more, then it'll all be over with._ He screwed his eyes tightly shut, preparing for the fist to land on his body.

"Oi! What are you two doing? Put him _down_!"

At the sound of the voice, Mike was dropped onto the ground. He lay hunched over in the earth, coughing and wheezing as he heard Alex and Henry laughing and running away. He didn't know who had spoken and he didn't really care. All that mattered then was that his insides were being given a brief respite. He hunched over, rubbing his stomach. Then, a soft voice asked, "Michael? Are you okay?"

Mike opened his eyes and found himself looking at a round, freckled face with chestnut eyes, mousey hair, a button nose, and thick glasses. It was Susan Glazer, the girl he'd had a crush on for six months now. She was clutching a ball. Obviously it had rolled away from her, into bushes and she'd gone after it and caught the three boys. At any other time, Mike would have been _thrilled_ that she was talking to him, but not _then_. Not when he was covered in dirt, with tears still on his face and bruises covering his stomach and arm.

He ducked his head and got to his feet, then started to walk away without answering. Susan called out to him, but he didn't look back. Instead, he broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and out into the open. He wanted to get home. Mike kept his head down as he pelted through the streets and across roads, dodging cars and bikes. Several times he only narrowly avoided running into families and twice he knocked over small children who then started to bawl loudly. People yelled insults after him, waved their fists at him, but he didn't care. He didn't stop. He jut kept his head down and ran flat out through the city streets.

Finally, he reached the blue front door of his flats and wrenched it open. He thumped up the stairs until he reached the door to his house. Then he ran in, through the hall and into his room where he slammed his shopping bag onto his bed.

"Mike?" Bethany had appeared at his open door, her brown eyes blinking in concern. She was clutching one of her Hogwarts textbooks. Mike glared at her. Then he strode across the room and slammed the door in his face.

"Mike?" she called, her voice sounding scared. "Mike, what's wrong? What-"

"Fuck off!" he screamed, remembering the language his mother had told him never to use. "I don't want to talk to you! I don't want to see you!" He growled and punched the door, the wood shaking on the impact and his knuckles pulsing in pain. He _hated_ her. How could she stand there, plain as day, wielding her book which talked about magic right under his nose. How could his own sister be so careless?

'_Not sister_,' he thought bitterly, his eyes flashing. 'Half_-sister. _Half_-blood _half_-sister. _Half_-blood _half_-sister who gets to go to school while I, the _pure_blood, have to stay here!'_

"It's not fair!" he screamed, grabbing a nearby book and hurling it across the room. "Why don't I get to go to Hogwarts too?"

"Mike, I-"

"Go away! I don't want to talk to you! I hate you! I hope you die and I never see you again! I! Hate! You!"

There was a long, resonating silence after this yell. Mike stood in the middle of his room, his hands shaking in fury, his breath heavy and ragged. Tears dribbled slowly down his face. Then, there was the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway. Mike sunk to the floor, clutching his stomach. Tears flowed freely now.

"It's not fair," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It's not fair. It's not fair. it's not fair."

000

"Professor?"

With a start, Mike realised that they were already by the carriage. He'd been silent for the entire walk down the steps. He and Luna got into the carriage and trundled off towards the train. Luna stared out of the window at the passing scenery. Mike scrabbled in his trunk.

"Luna," he said, grabbing the first thing he could and straightening up. "I want to give you something for your birthday. Here. Uh..." He was holding the string of corks which had been in his Doc Marten. Thinking fast, he reached over and placed it around the girl's neck. With quick movements, he tied a small knot at the back, then shifted her hair over it and sat back to admire his handwork. A necklace of butterbeer corks. He was a genius.

"It's not much," he said, blushing. "But you should have something for your birthday and-" He broke off. Luna had looked up at him, beaming like he'd never seen anyone beam before. Her eyes were sparkling, every tooth in her head was visible, her hands were clasped in front of her. She was the happiest Mike had ever seen her look. She was the happiest he'd seen _anybody_ look. He blushed a bit more.

"Thank you!" she said. "This is the first present I've ever got from someone who wasn't a family member. It's _your_ birthday in two weeks, isn't it? I'll send _you_ something, too."

"That's really not necessary," Mike laughed, thrilled at Luna's reaction. "H- Have you really not gotten a present from... Not from a friend or-"

"I don't have any friends," Luna said, shaking her head. "People tend to think I'm weird."

"Oh..." Mike felt awkward again and started sucking on his lip ring. The carriage pulled to a stop and Mike hopped out, helping Luna get down too. They pulled their trunks out, then stopped. At a loss for what to do, Mike patted the thestral which was pulling the carriage. He'd read about these things before coming, but to see one in the flesh... They were actually quite cute once you got past the whole demon-horse thing. He guessed that Harry'd be able to see them now as well.

"Say, Luna," he said, not looking up. "You wanna share a train compartment with me? I have some exploding snap cards."

Luna smiled and nodded so the two of them made their way onto the train and to a back compartment. As they started moving, Mike started organising the cards. The teacher and student sat cross-legged on the floor, backs against the seats. Mike had brought some food from the school kitchens on his way out and this was scattered throughout the compartment.

"So, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned?" Luna asked, picking up her cards.

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "Shit just got real. You go first. Another birthday present."


	17. In Which A Pleasant Evening Is Enjoyed

**And here we have the next chapter. Just a couple chapters of Holidays, then we're back to Hogwarts again. Yay!**

**Just one thing before we get into this: I am completely for Tonks/Lupin. It's one of my favourite ships. Just to let you know.**

**Also, I love manga. Just putting it out there.**

**Please let me know what you think. After all, I'm here to improve and/or get an ego boost.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: White Russians are the best drink ever.<strong>

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><p>"You know... I wouldn't feel comfortable wearing a skirt that short. People would always be looking up it."<p>

"Mike. What on earth are you reading?"

"Oh cock, did I say that out loud?" Mike looked up to find Molly Weasley glaring at him from across the table. He gave a nervous grin, then hastily stuffed his book into a jacket pocket. "Nothing, Molly. Nothing at all, I-"

"You realise, the meeting is about to start," she snapped, hands on her hips. "Harry is going to arrive any minute, then we will have to get down to business. And you are reading some smutty comic books about-"

"'Smutty comic-book'?" Mike repeated. "It's a _manga_, thank you very much. And the only reason it may _appear_ smutty is because Japanese people are _weird_ and the girls all seem to wear ridiculous clothes. I don't see why-"

"Why do you even have that sort of thing on you?"

"It's just a _comic_! And it's not even mine! It's a gift for my _nephew_!"

"Oh." At the mention of Lewis, Molly softened slightly, just as Mike knew she would. That's why he'd made up the lie about giving the comic to him. "How _is_ Lewis?"

"Good evening," a voice said before Mike could reply. Albus Dumbledore had just entered the room, along with several other people. Among them was Severus Snape, Mike's work colleague; Bill Weasley, a friend of his; and Sirius Black, someone who Mike was growing more and more fond of every day. He sat up straighter, all serious for the meeting. Molly cast him yet another disapproving look, then bustled out of the room. There had just been the unmistakable sound of the front door opening and it was probably Harry arriving. They'd been talking about him non-stop for days now.

They were in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had gathered people together at the start of the Summer holidays as an elite force to tackle Voldemort. Mike had been eager to help from the get-go and he'd managed to rope in a few other people too. He didn't have a big job, in fact it was a miniscule job, but it was good to know he was helping. Plus, he'd been able to hang out here for some of the holidays. The Weasleys were all here and he was getting on really well with the twins especially. Then there was Hermione and now Harry had arrived too. There were definitely worse ways he could spend his free time.

"Michael," Dumbledore said, jerking the man's head round. "How are things going on the muggle side of things? Have you heard about anything that could be related to Voldemort at all?"

"Well... No, not yet Professor. The only deaths reported have been quite mundane and there haven't been any disappearances at all. Not one of the people I've spoken to have mentioned anything that could be the result of magic."

"Yeah, well... Maybe that's just 'cos young, easily impressed girls ain't paying all that much attention," Mundungus said, glancing round. Mike bristled.

"Don't pigeonhole me, Mundungus," he snapped. "'Young, easily impressed girls'. Honestly... Guys are fine too."

000

At the end of the meeting, Mike got to his feet and moved towards the door, talking with a few members. In front of him, the young, pink-haired Tonks was saying something to Lupin. Mike had had his eye on Tonks for a while now. He'd always wondered what it would be like to have sex with a metamorphmagus. After all, if she could change her appearance at will then there could be no limit to what she could do. She could become every famous woman in history if she wanted. Mike had always quite liked Gwenog Jones...

"Wotcher, Mike," Tonks said. Mike had trodden on her toe, not paying attention to where he was walking. "Something on your mind?"

"Uh..." Now seemed as good a time as any. "Well Tonks, now that you mention it... You wanna screw?"

"What?"

"Not _now_ of course, but some time in the future. I find you very attractive and I will admit the metamorphmagus thing's an _incredible_ turn on. I promise, I'm very good in bed. I have yet to have an unhappy customer. It'd just be a one-off, no strings attached thing. Pure fun. I don't want things to be _awkward_ between us, you see."

"Well things are certainly awkward _now,_" Tonks said, her voice hushed. They'd entered the hall and people were beginning to filter out of the house.

Mike shrugged. "It's an open offer. Any time in the future, if you ever feel like it. You know where I am."

"Er... Right." Tonks turned and walked back towards the kitchen, but tripped over the troll foot umbrella stand. There was a loud crash, then an even louder screech as the portrait of Sirius's mother started yelling. Hastily, Mike helped Tonks up and righted the umbrella stand. Sirius, who had run out of the kitchen at the sound, was busy yelling at his mother and finally succeeded in wrenching the curtain over her portrait. Mike gave a wave to Tonks, then headed towards the door.

"Mike, you're staying for dinner, right?" Fred and George asked, running down the stairs and grabbing his arm before he could open the door. He glanced round. Molly didn't exactly _approve_ of him being there, she said he was a bad influence on her sons. If he stayed, then she'd glare at him all night. Still, her food was better than anything else he'd be able to get.

"I'd _love_ to."

000

"...And then," choked Mundungus. "And then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, ''Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what 'e paid in the first place-"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of you business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs Weasley sharply. Mike was hunched over the table, clutching his sides and roaring with laughter. Shakily, he pushed himself up and tried to calm himself down, beaming at Molly. Mundungus was apologising profusely. Beside him, Ron was still guffawing and the Weasley twins were snorting into their butterbeers. They watched as Molly left to get the pudding, then George gave Mike a quick poke in the ribs.

"You were going to tell us that story about your friend, Kevin," he said in a hushed voice. "The one mum didn't want us to hear."

"Oh yeah," Mike grinned, quickly checking to make sure Molly was still in the kitchen. "Well, I had this mate, Kev Princely, and he always bragged that he could get women to do whatever he wanted-"

"You stole that from him, did you?" Ron added.

"I was _sixteen_ when I first met him, Ron. Not a superstar, but not a virgin either. Anyway, this one night we were out at a pub. I had a fake ID, it's alright. Kev started bragging about how many girls he'd had. Then this one guy, Abdul, he says, 'Oh yeah, so why don't you prove it?' Then he points to this girl at the other end of the bar, sitting alone. Very pretty. Tall, long hair, good face. Abdul points at her, and he says, "I bet you can't convince her to do anal'. So Kev says-"

"Michael! That is _not_ appropriate for the dinner table!"

Molly Wealey thumped a bowl of rhubarb crumble down in front of the teacher who cringed and sank back into his chair. "S-Sorry Molly. Uh... They've got to learn these things somewhere-"

"If you're teaching my children something," Molly said coldly. "I'd prefer it if you stuck to History of Magic." She swept of round the table, shooting him cold glances. Mike went slightly pale and coughed into his hand. He started shovelling rhubarb into his mouth to distract himself from Mrs Weasley's cold glances.

When the conversation had picked up around the table again, George leaned in and whispered, "Did he do it? Did he convince the girl to do anal?"

"He convinced her," Mike nodded. "And was dead chuffed about it. He said she'd been dead keen, but had asked to only do it in the dark, with shirts on. When he told us that, Abdul said, 'Oh, she was probably shy about her wide shoulders, large hands, stuffed bra, and pronounced Adam's apple.'"

George's jaw dropped. "You mean she was-?"

"Yup."

"And he didn't know-?"

"Nope."

"But he had already-?"

"Yup."

"But was he even interested in-?"

"Judging by how fast he ran from the pub? Not likely."

000

After the large meal, Harry had had things thoroughly explained to him. Mike offered information at certain points, but was mostly content to let the others take over. When Molly said enough was enough, everyone to bed, Mike decided that that wasn't a bad idea and got to his feet, ready to leave. Molly was chivying everyone out of the kitchen. Harry, Ron and Hermione were first out of the room, since Fred and George kept asking if, since they were of age, they could get some Firewhiskey. Molly had said no and they were now out the door as well. Mike grinned at their retreating faces, raising his own glass of Firewhiskey in a mock cheers. He drained the last few drops of liquid, shuffled on his coat, then moved to the door.

"You leaving, Mike?" Tonks asked, yawning. "I'll come with you. I've got tonight and tomorrow off. Wotcher, Sirius."

Mike grinned at her, waved a good-bye to Sirius and Arthur, then followed Tonks out to the hall. She moved across the room to get her coat, but Mike had to grab her round the waist to stop her from tripping over the umbrella stand. The last thing they needed was a loud noise to wake up Sirius' mother who would then wake up everyone else. Carefully, they padded across the room and out the door, clicking it shut behind them. It was a warm night and the two of them stood on the top step for a moment or two.

"So, how you holding up?" Mike asked as they stood there. Tonks shrugged.

"Well, you know... I get tired when I stay up all night, but who wouldn't? And it can be lonely when I'm doing night watch by myself. I guess you're working alone on the muggle side, are you?"

"Yeah... Yeah, it's not _that_ exciting. My family's in on it though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, my sister and her boyfriend. Then my Mum, too. She and my dad were both in the Order the first time round, did you know that?"

Tonks shook her head. Then, with a smile, she held out her hand. "Well, Mike. Where can I take you?"

"What?"

"Well, you can't _apparate_, can you? I'll take you back to wherever it is you're staying."

Mike cringed slightly at the 'can't apparate' remark, then grudgingly took Tonks' hand and the two vanished with a pop. After a few seconds of what felt like being smooshed through a garden hose, they appeared in an alley in the middle of London. Mike tumbled backwards and banged into the wall, dislodging a few of his carefully organised spikes. He hurriedly righted them, breathing heavily.

"You alright?" Tonks asked. "Was that your first time?"

"Yeah..." Mike panted, straightening up. "Yeah, it felt... It felt _weird_."

"It'll take some getting used to," Tonks nodded. "My first time was uncomfortable too."

"Is it meant to feel so... So _tight_?"

"Whoo! Tight!" Mike and Tonks looked round to see a man slumped against the wall, leering at them. "First time in an alleyway! Good on you man!"

"What?" Mike spluttered, his brain reeling at what the man had said. "Why- I didn't- You shouldn't just- That was _not_ my first time! No, that's not what I meant to say. We weren't-"

"Mike, leave it," Tonks sighed, moving back down the alley, away from the man. "I'd curse him, but since I'm an auror I really shouldn't break the statute of secrecy." She smiled cheerily as they moved out into a crowded muggle street. "I just need to get away from all these people so I can disapparate and-"

"Tonks," Mike interrupted. "What do you say about having a drink with me? There's a rather nice cocktail bar on this street."

Tonks looked at him suspiciously. "I thought I already said _no_, Mike."

"Oh, I don't want to have _sex_ with you," Mike said breezily. "I just don't feel like going to bed right now and I wouldn't mind getting to know you a little better. Sometimes a drink is just a drink, Tonks. Now come on, the White Russians at this place are to die for."

"Well alright," Tonks said, following Mike up the street. "What's a White Russian?"

"Muggle drink," Mike explained. "Very tasty. Maybe we can get you a few to try, if you've never had muggle drinks before. Say what you want about them, but non-magical people make good alcohol. Here we are."

Mike pushed open the polished black door and stepped back to let Tonks through. This was nice. It was perhaps the first time he'd gone out with a girl just as friends. He wasn't thinking about getting into Tonk's robes or anything remotely like that. Perhaps this was a turning point in his life.

000

"And there's a 'Y' in Nymphadora," Mike said to the tattoo artist the next morning who was adding another grain to the bedpost of names on his forearm.


	18. In Which Another School Year Starts

**Hey guys. If you've reviewed my fic (at any time in the past) and I haven't replied then I'm really sorry. Sometimes my mind gets away from me. Just so you know, your words mean more to me than I can say and it's the least I can do to reply. Sorry if I haven't gotten back to you, it'll never happen again.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Never trust a person wearing a pink cardigan.<strong>

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><p>"And you'll be careful, right? I mean... If You-know-Who has come back, then you'll be in even more danger."<p>

"Okay, first of all just use his name. Second of all, the only bad thing that happened last year was that I was turned into a canary by some little, second-year twat-"

"Mike!" Bethany glanced at Lewis who was sitting on Mike's shoulders. Lewis giggled and thumped his feet against Mike's chest. Mike grinned.

"Lewis, who gives words their power?" he asked, glancing up.

"Humans!"

"And how do we make words less offensive?"

"We don't take offence!"

"So what should we do to achieve this?"

"Swear more and let the once offensive words become part of everyday, inoffensive conversation! Twat! Voldemort!"

"That's it! Down you come!" Bethany reached up and plucked her son from her brother's shoulders. Both the boys pouted, but Mike just shrugged whereas Lewis started throwing a fit. James, who had been eating an ice lolly, clamped the treat in his mouth, then grabbed Lewis and held him at arm's length until he stopped shrieking.

The four of them were standing on Platform 9 3/4, ready to send Mike away for another year. Beth and James had immediately believed Mike when he'd told them about Lord Voldemort, and were now working with the Order. Bethany had teamed up with Charlie Weasley in Romania to recruit more wizards from overseas. James had been given a smaller role, since he'd asked to not be taken away from his son for too long. He was keeping an eye on things up in Scotland, making sure nothing funny was happening. Mrs Smitt, Bethany and Mike's mother, had been helping him out. As for Lewis... Well, he hadn't a clue what was going on, but enjoyed the winces that occurred every time he said the word 'Voldemort'. Mike wasn't exactly helping with this, what with him encouraging Lewis to swear.

"I'd better get going," said Mike, picking up his trunk. "Train's about to leave and I said I'd meet up with some young entrepreneurs."

"Huh?" Bethany said as Mike kissed her goodbye. He then gave James a punch on the arm and Lewis a rather sloppy kiss on his forehead which made the child squeal before disappearing onto the train.

The small family of three stood on the platform for a while longer, Lewis waving and shouting, "Bye bye, Uncle Mike" at the top of his lungs. When the train pulled out, Bethany sighed.

"I've got to be back in Romania in a few hours," she said, glancing at his watch. "Let's go get lunch, shall we?" Lewis dropped to the ground and ran out of the magical barrier, closely followed by James who scooped him up to stop him getting away again. He glanced round to check none of the muggles had seen them, then waited for Bethany to join them. When she appeared, she was muttering something about Romania and looking apprehensive. James kissed her on the cheek.

"Mike'll be fine," he assured her. "You remember that time we first met, when you told him about Lewis? Remember how he leapt on me, snapped my wand, and almost broke my wrist? If he was willing to do that to protect _your_ honour, what'll he do to protect _himself_? Just because he can't cast a stunning spell doesn't mean he won't be able to knock people out."

Bethany laughed and took her boyfriend's hand.

000

Mike sat in the end compartment, twiddling his thumbs. Every so often he'd glance out into the corridor, then vanish back into his compartment. Fred and George said they'd meet him on the train, but they were taking their time about it. It was just when he was getting bored and decided to read one of his History textbooks that the door slid open.

"Mike!" Fred said, sauntering into the compartment. "Haven't seen you in ages. You vanished after that night Harry turned up. And you changed your hair! Why? I liked it red."

"Hey Fred. I went back to brown because I wanted to appear professional when I went back to school," Mike said, tapping one of his spikes of hair. "And the reason you didn't see me in London is because I was very busy. Sorry to disappoint you." Actually, Mike hadn't turned up at Grimmauld Place because he didn't want to run into Tonks and break his wait-two-months-before-seeing-them-again rule. Luckily, he hadn't had much to do for the Order anyway. Muggles were pretty stupid about the whole evil-wizard-returning-to-sow-death-and-destruction thing, so there was nothing to be done. There was about one mysterious muggle death which he'd had write to Dumbledore about, but that was it. He'd spent the last part of the holidays in Glasgow, with Lewis and James, taking trips out to visit his mother in Edinburgh as often as he could. It was good to be back in his old town for a while, he was able to visit all his old haunts. He even went and had a look round his old school. It was fun to know that, when he stepped onto the playground, he wouldn't get beaten up.

"Where are your twin and friend, Lee?" Mike asked, not looking up from his book. "Or did you want me all to yourself?"

"They're just coming. Lee's asking Angelina to go to Madame Puddifoot's with him on the first Hogsmeade weekend."

Mike sighed, rolling his eyes. "I thought I told him to take a step back for a while and keep her hungry."

Fred shrugged, then Lee Jordan and George pushed their way into the compartment. Lee looked thoroughly put out and George was grinning from ear to ear.

"She said that she'd rather go out with the giant squid," he said gleefully, sitting down next to his brother. Lee scowled at the pair of them who had burst out laughing, then sat down next to Mike. Mike, who had had his feet up on the bench, shifted to accommodate him. He smiled cheerfully.

"Have you _really_ never been turned down?" Lee asked him, frowning.

"Never."

"Never in your entire life?"

"Nope," Mike smiled, enjoying the look on Lee's face. "Every girl I have asked out has said yes. But that's not important right now. You boys said you had some business?"

The twins grinned and pulled out a cardboard box labelled FF. George opened it and revealed a whole load of what seemed like tablets, each with one purple end and one orange end. Mike leaned over them excitedly.

"What are they? What are they? What are they? What are they? What are they?"

"These are the latest in our line of developments," Fred said proudly.

"Something which every Hogwarts student will require," said George.

"And something which is sure to be a money-spinner," said Fred.

"Skiving Snackboxes," said George, picking one of them up and placing it in Mike's hand. "Just take a bite out of the orange end and you get off your classes. You try it."

Mike raised the sweet to his mouth, then stopped and narrowed his eyes at the twins. "What will it do? How does it get me off of lessons?"

"It's not dangerous," Lee assured him. "I've tried a couple and they're fine. We just need to see if they'll work on everyone."

Mike looked round at them all, then shrugged and took a bite. He chewed on it, swallowed, then looked around. "Is anything meant to be...? Oh..." Mike's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped sideways, banging into Lee who got a face full of hair. Lee pushed the History teacher up against the other wall, where he flopped against the window and started to drool slightly.

"Well, it works!" Fred said, rubbing his hands together. "Excellent! Thanks for saying you've taken some too, Lee. If we hadn't lied he probably wouldn't have tried it. Right, well... Exploding snap, anyone?"

000

"You left me there for three hours."

"You looked so peaceful, we didn't want to disturb you."

"Three. Fucking. _Hours_. I'm still a teacher, you know. I can put you in detention and confiscate all your snackboxes."

"Will you?"

"... No. But I _could_."

Fred grinned and hopped into the carriage, closely followed by George and Lee. Mike stood on the step for a moment, looking round. The thestrals were all hooked up again, the one on this carriage looking round questionably. Mike could see Draco Malfoy pushing a kid aside to get a carriage for himself and his friends, then Hermione striding up and yelling at him. Colin and Dennis Creevey were flicking through some chocolate frog cards as they squeezed through the crowds. Eyes flicking over everyone's heads, Mike caught sight of Luna talking to Ron Weasley. He raised his eyebrow at this. Ron wasn't exactly the kind of person he'd expect to hang out with Luna. He opened his mouth to call out to them, then stopped when he saw that Luna was wearing the butterbeer cork necklace he'd given her just before the holidays.

"Aw..."

"Mike, stop being a git and sit down. It's getting cold."

"I'm a teacher, don't talk to me like that on school grounds," Mike said, swinging into a seat and closing the door. "You know what? Detention. This Tuesday. All of you."

"Why?" Lee asked.

"For being pricks," Mike shrugged as the carriage began to move. "And for using my money to buy cauldron cakes, Mr Lee Jordan."

Lee folded his arms and slouched down in his seat. "They were good cauldron cakes."

000

"...Perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." The short, podgy woman gave a small smile at the end of her speech and sat down. Mike, who had been staring off into space for the last few minutes, didn't realise she'd stopped talking until Dumbledore got to his feet and started talking instead.

Mike sat up slightly straighter, stifling a yawn. That Dolores Umbridge woman... She had said something odd about the ministry or something, Mike wasn't sure. All he knew was she had an annoying, high-pitched voice which would start grinding on his nerves if he spent too long in her company. He silently thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't a student and wouldn't have to listen to her talk about anything for too long, then resolved to get to know her and find out if her personality was as annoying as her voice.

"Hmm..."

Mike glanced round and saw Septima Vector, looking down at her hands, her lips very thin.

"What?"

"Were you paying attention to Professor Umbridge's speech?" Septima asked in a low voice, not looking up. Mike shook his head, looking sheepish and Septima sighed. "The thing is, Mike, the ministry of Magic has got a spy in our midst. Someone to keep tabs on us and make sure we're not getting out of hand."

Septima was speaking in such a low murmur and without looking at Mike, so it would have been impossible for an outside observer to tell anything was actually going on. Luckily, Mike's finely tuned ears were able to pick up every word. He glanced down the table. Professor Umbridge was giving a small, prim smile which made her look like a cross between a toad and somebody's grandmother. Basically, she looked like a toad's grandmother. Something like that. Mike frowned. Really, now that he looked at her, she didn't seem particularly ... _likeable_. You'd have thought that the ministry would've sent somebody _engaging_ if they wanted to spy on people. After all, who were kids more likely to talk to: someone friendly who treated them as equals, or an ugly great-aunt who wore pink cardigans? Pink cardigans? Seriously?

"Really glad I'm not taking Defense Against The Dark Arts this year," Mike murmured, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

000

As Mike was leaving the hall at the end of the Welcome Feast, he spotted a mop of dirty blonde hair and called out, "Luna!" When Luna turned round, she smiled and waved.

"Hello Professor," she said when he reached her. "How are you?"

"Tired," Mike responded. "So I'll keep this quick. You have a cello lesson this Wednesday at half four and make sure you come. I have a little venture planned for this year."

"Ooh!" Luna said, her eyes widening even more. "What?"

"You'll see," said Mike, tapping the side of his nose. He didn't want to tell her just then because she might start talking and he was pretty tired. It turned out that being knocked into a magical coma for several hours really took it out of you. When she turned up for her cello lesson that Wednesday, Luna would indeed start talking a great deal and she and Mike would spend the hour discussing things without once touching any instruments.

What Mike had planned for that year was simple: find some talented kids and see if he could get a second generation of _Suburban Avalon_ going. Luna would be playing the cello, of course. And Mike took it upon himself most graciously to be the lead singer. Now they just needed some other students. Mike had no idea _who_, but they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.


	19. In Which Mike Is Helpful

**Not too happy with this chapter, but have to get it out of the way to make way for the other chapters which are all lined up. Also, sorry for not posting last week, but the creative juices didn't start flowing until about yesterday.**

**If you have any feedback, praise, criticism or suchlike, then please let me know.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: If you buy a new broom then you have to try out for your house Quidditch team. No exceptions.<strong>

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><p>On period three of that first Monday, Mike had a lesson with fourth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. He started the lesson by asking students various questions about work they'd done the various year, making sure they remembered the key points. Apart from Colin Creevey forgetting the date that the International Statute of Secrecy was signed, people seemed to have got it all down. Mike was pleased about this. If he didn't need to go over anything, then he could move on to the Goblin Rebellions that much quicker. He had planned on playing the song which his fourth years from the year before had enjoyed so much, but a small Hufflepuff girl had asked him a question which stopped him in his tracks.<p>

"Please, sir," the girl, Harriet Jacobson, had asked in a quiet voice. "Do _you_ believe it? Do _you_ believe that You-Know-Who is back?"

Mike stood in silence for a full minute, debating what to tell her.

"Harriet," he said finally, "I am going to answer that question honestly, but I want you all to know that it is only _my_ opinion. I am not going to tell you what to believe. Nobody can tell you what to believe. Not your teachers, not your friends, not your parents. Nobody but yourself. However, what _I_ think is this." Mike moved over to the blackboard and picked up his chalk. "Either He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, or he isn't." Along the top of the blackboard, Mike wrote '_Back_' and '_Not Back_'. "We can do one of two things. We can believe he's back or we can not believe it." Down the right-hand side of the board, Mike wrote '_Believe_' and '_Don't Believe_', then he drew several quick lines across the board to make a grid.

"Now, if he isn't back and we don't believe he's back then we all go about our normal lives and nothing happens. I'm perfectly alright with this happening." Mike put a large tick in the intersection of '_Not Back_' and '_Don't Believe_'.

"If he's not back, but we _believe_ he's back then we'll worry a lot and prepare a lot, but ultimately nothing will happen. People might be a bit pissed, but nobody will die. I'm okay with this happening. You know, because being pissed off isn't _that_ big a deal." Another large tick was put in the intersection of '_Not Back_' and '_Believe_'.

"If he's back and we don't believe he's back then we will be utterly unprepared for the wave of death and destruction which would undoubtedly come. Thousands of muggles, muggle-borns, and muggle-sympathisers will be killed, tortured, and perhaps even worse. This, I'm _definitely_ not okay with." Mike drew a cross at the intersection of '_Back_' and '_Don't Believe_'.

"If he's back and we believe he's back, then we prepare and we meet him head on. We fight, we get his numbers down, and we beat him into submission. Lives will still be lost, yes, but considerably less lives will be lost than if we don't prepare. Then, if we've prepared _enough_, we have a pretty good chance of killing the bastard before he gets into a full-blown frenzy. This, I'm also okay with." Mike put a tick in the intersection of '_Back_' and '_Believe_' then stood back. The entire class was silent, staring up at the blackboard. Mike tapped a finger against the large cross.

"This is the outcome I want to avoid," he said. "And the only way I can be sure of that is by believing that You-Know-Who is back. Because if I turn out to be incorrect, then no harm done. Nobody will be dead, no death and destruction will reign down, nothing. People will be a bit ticked off about being wrong, but frankly they should learn to get on with it. If I'm right, then I'm prepared and I have a fighting chance. So to answer your question Harriet: yes. I _do_ believe that he is back."

Harriet was looking down at the table, her hands clenched into tight fists. Beside her, Ginny Weasley was staring intently at the board. Behind _them_, Colin Creevey was opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Then, Caleb Drevil, raised his hand.

"My mum said that Dumbledore's getting old and that he'll believe anything Harry Potter tells him. She also said that Potter's been making up a lot of stuff to get more attention and that You-Know-Who isn't really back."

"Yeah well, your mother's an ignorant bitch who believes everything the media tells her. The Daily Prophet could publish an article saying that shoes cause dragon pox and you'd probably have to walk barefoot for the rest of your life."

That was what Mike _wanted_ to say, but he managed to bite his tongue and instead said something about how his opinion was different to other people's and that they should all just get along. Caleb gave Mike a scowl and muttered something hateful about Dumbledore. Mike smiled and shrugged but, just as he started teaching again, he shot Ginny a quick look and made an almost imperceptible movement of his fingers. She, Mike, and the twins had been working on a code throughout the summer. The movement which Mike had just made meant, _'That person is a prick. Please hex them or otherwise do them harm'_. Ginny smiled and gave a movement of her quill which meant, _'I understand. Thy will be done'._

That afternoon, Caleb was hit with a bat bogey hex so bad that he had to be sent to the hospital wing. He couldn't remember just _who_ had hexed him, but for a long time after that he had nightmares about a strange, red blur.

000

"Right! Pop quiz! How well do you remember last year? Ron, what was the name of the first leader of the Goblin Rebellions?"

"..."

"It- It was Elfric the Eager, Ron. We learnt that in the first lesson."

"Oh... Yeah, sorry."

"Uh huh. Well... Harry, how many goblins joined forces with Urg the Unclean in the sixteen forty-one London protest?"

"... Twenty... Twenty-five?"

"Er, no Harry. It was seventeen..."

Mike looked in concern between the two boys. Ron was looking at him with bleary eyes and hadn't seemed to be taking anything in. Harry was slumped over the desk and seemed in much the same position as Ron. Every so often, he'd run the fingers of his left hand over the back of his right. It was only the second day of school so they couldn't have gotten _that_ much homework. However, they both looked decidedly bothered about something. Mike glanced at Hermione who shrugged.

"Okay then. Um... Blaise, can you tell me in what year the Declaration of Goblin Rights was signed?"

"Sixteen Fourty-Three."

"Brilliant. Five points to Slytherin. Uh..."

Ron's eyes had just slipped closed and his breath was coming in what sounded suspiciously like snores. Mike kept talking and started to wander around the classroom. When he passed Ron, he gave him a surreptitious poke on the arm. Ron gave a loud snort and sat bolt upright, causing Pansy Parkinson to give a loud giggle.

"Ron, five points from Gryffindor for sleeping during lesson," Mike said with a slight frown. "Pansy, five points from Slytherin for giggling in a most _unkind_ manner."

000

That evening, Mike paid his first visit of the school year to the Three Broomsticks. As soon as he stepped into the room, he felt a smile slip onto his face. All around him were various witches and wizards from all walks of life, the sounds of talking and clinking bottles, the smell of the roaring fire and the firewhiskey. Mike knew he was where he belonged and he sidled over to the bar and leaned against the wood. Immediately, he started scanning the crowds, searching for an opportunity.

_Girl sitting alone in the corner, reading. Could go for the shy musician. Slightly older woman at the end of the bar, staring into space and stirring a straw through her gillywater. Hard to read. The intellectual would probably be the best bet so the intelligence would negate the age difference. Man just entering the pub, possibly traveling judging by the hiking boots and scruffy robes. Sure to have plenty of stories and probably just desperate for someone to sit and listen to them. Young couple by the window-_

"So, you're back again, are you?"

Mike turned round and found Rosmerta smiling at him from the bar. Mike waggled an eyebrow. "Couldn't keep me away," he said jovially. Then he tapped the bar hopefully. Rosmerta handed him a Firewhiskey and Mike went back to scanning the room, sipping his drink.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you laying off my customers a bit this year?" Rosmerta asked in a low voice. She was leaning over the bar towards Mike and was displaying quite a bit of cleavage. Mike felt his eyes linger on her chest for a moment, before snapping them away. No matter how much he was craving a bit of action, his rules were still sacred.

"Sorry Rosmerta," Mike shrugged. "I can't promise anything. My feet bring me here night after night. Who am I to say no?"

The barmaid sighed and shook her head. Mike grinned and was about to turn away but Rosmerta said, "Wait. Can you just..." She struggled to find a word, then gave up. "Just try and keep it down, okay? I don't want to have to walk past a room and hear... Well, hear that."

Mike blinked. Then he gave a burst of laughter. "Sorry, I didn't realise it was a problem," he said, stuffing a fist into his mouth to stifle his giggles. "Sure I'll keep it down. Can't make any promises for the _other_ person though. I quite often have that kind of effect on people and they feel the need for loud vocals. This one girl, an opera singer... Well, I effected _her_ a great deal." Mike grinned at the memory. The girl had given out a loud, ringing note which had caused his neighbours to leave an extremely angry note on Mike's door the next morning. He had found the entire thing incredibly funny and had apologised profusely. The neighbours weren't so amused by the ordeal and moved shortly after.

Mike gave Rosmerta his winning smile. "I'll do my best," he promised, and with that he turned and strode across the room to his target.

000

"Can you dance like a hippogriff? Na na na na na na na na na! Flying high above the cliffs! Na na na na na na na na na!" Mike was strolling back from the Three Broomsticks when he caught sight of something by the quidditch pitch. What looked like a lone figure on a broom was flying through the air while a quaffle flopped hopelessly on the ground. Mike watched this for a moment or two, then trotted closer to get a better view.

"Come on you stupid thing." The figure had turned out to be Ron Weasley who was brandishing his wand at the quaffle and getting quite annoyed.

"Call me crazy," said Mike, making Ron jerk his head round and almost topple off of his broom. "But isn't quidditch a lot more fun when you play with other people?" He walked forward and scooped the quaffle up off the ground. Ron had turned crimson.

"Um..." the boy said, getting nervous.

"You're thinking of trying out for Gryffindor keeper, aren't you?" Mike asked jovially, tossing the quaffle from one hand to the other. "And let me guess... You're training here by yourself so that your brothers don't find out and start making fun of you?"

Ron was silent for a moment, floating so that his toes were level with Mike's forehead. Then he nodded. Mike told him not to move, then vanished and reappeared a second later clutching his own broom. He mounted and kicked off from the ground.

"I know I'm not the best player in the world," he said, hovering in the air. "But I'm better than a hovering charm."

"What?" Ron spluttered. "You mean you- You're gonna help me?"

"Of course, Mike said. "I think it'd be _great_ if you get on the team. It'd be a shame to let a nice new broom like this go to waste. Besides, the night is still young and I've got nothing else to do. Now here! Catch!" Mike tossed the quaffle to Ron who swiped out at it with trembling fingers. The quaffle carried past Ron's hands and hit the boy's nose with a dull thwack. Mike swooped down and plucked the ball from the ground.

"Hmm..." he murmured when he flew back up. "We've got a lot of work to do."

000

That Firday, at five o'clock, a very nervous Ron was preparing to go onto the Quidditch pitch. He was jiggling from one foot to the other, clutching his broom nervously. Mike was watching him from up in the stands, sat next to Hermione and Ginny. Hermione was clapping politely and Ginny was watching with a grim determination. Mike was marking a few essays he'd been meaning to get round to, glancing up every so often to watch whoever was trying out.

"Do you think he has a chance?" Ginny had asked when she'd first sat down next to Mike.

Mike had grinned. "My my, Ginny. Don't tell me you actually _care_ about Ron and want him to get on the team?" He chuckled, then shrugged. "He's got talent, that's for sure. He made some prety good saves when we were playing. Only problem is he's a bit self-conscious. If he gets over himself then he should do fine."

"I hope he gets in," Hermione remarked. She had sat down at the same time as Ginny. "He really enjoys quidditch."

"I'd say he has a good chance," Mike said. "He's got talent. Plus, he's a nice guy. That's what you need really: a team who enjoy each others company. I mean, his brothers and best friend are on the team, so they're gonna get along. Where is is Harry, by the way? I'd've thought he'd be here with the rest of them."

"Detention," Hermione said in an icy voice. "With _Umbridge_."

Mike blinked at the hateful way that Hermione mentioned the teacher, opened his mouth to ask about it, then stopped when Ron stepped out onto the pitch. He sat up straight and started clapping. Ron looked around nervously, then kicked off and rose up to hover by the goal posts.

"Come on Ron," Mike muttered. "Just forget about everyone else watching you and go for it."

Ron was staring out into space, his face pale. The rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team were flying around the pitch. The chasers were passing the quaffle to each other while Fred and George were twirling their bats. Then George raised his arm and thwacked the bludger hard in Ron's direction. At almost exactly the same time, Katie Bell swooped towards the goal posts and hurled the quaffle towards the centre hoop. Ron's eyes bugged out of his head and he acted without thinking. He dropped off to his right, narrowly avoiding the bludger which whistled past him. Then he stretched out his gloved hand and caught the quaffle as it soared by. The bludger turned and came back, but he swooped upwards and out of its path. Then he flung the quaffle over his head towards Angelina Johnso who caught it then flew away up the pitch.

"Well done Ron!" Hermione cried, clapping loudly. Her cheer seemed to bring Ron back to earth and he looked round. His face went pale as he saw all the faces watching him. Then the bludger wacked into his knees and he had to fight to stay on the broom. In the confusion, Alicia scored a goal.

Mike gritted his teeth and tilted his head back to look at the darkening sky. This was shaping up to be one of those car crashes which was horrible, but you just couldn't look away. Maybe the boy'd be able to claw back a little respect?

He looked back just in time to see Ron reach for the quaffle, lose his balance, topple from the broom, and end up hanging by his knees hooked over the handle. Mike and Ginny let out a simultaneous groan, then Mike buried his head in his hands.

_Still_, he told himself as he listened to the gasps and groans from the girls beside him._ He's a nice guy. That might just swing it for him. Maybe..._


	20. In Which Students Are Aggravating

**Hey! I'm on holidays now! Normally this would mean I'd be able to update faster because I don't have schoolwork to worry about, but actually I'm going to be overseas visiting family for a month. I'll be taking the laptop, but don't be too hopeful. Of course, if i got some nice messages/reviews from people asking me to update...**

**Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.**

**If you have any thoughts, comments or criticism then please tell me in a message or review.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: If a song hasn't been written about it then it's not worth learning about.<strong>

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><p>"Right, Giant Wars... I gotta say, I'm a bit uncomfortable actually teaching you this stuff because most texts that are available are incredibly biased. All written by wizards, most of whom probably lost loved ones at the hands of giants. Nobody ever got one of the giants to sit down and pen a novel about their lives and their experiences in the war. You know why? Because most wizards are close-minded little weasels who don't want to hear any opinion which is remotely different to their own. But, if you want to pass this course, you're gonna have to know about them.<p>

"Now, because most stuff is incredibly anti-giant, we probably won't be doing so much stuff out of the textbook this year. Sorry. It'll be used to get names, dates, and vague facts about the events, but the rest... Well, I'll get you stuff, yeah?"

Mike grinned sheepishly at his fifth years. It was the Gryffindors and the Slytherins together again this year, and already some of the Slytherins looked dubious. A couple of Gryffindors seemed sceptical too. Mike sighed and picked up the pile of booklets which he had put together. These had small passages from various books he'd read about the subject, as well as a few which he'd written himself. Hopefully they'd offer a well-rounded look at the Giant Wars. Humming, Mike trotted around the classroom and handed one booklet to each student.

"Did you write any songs about the Giant wars?" Neville asked.

"No, sorry. The Goblin Rebellions were more my thing. You never know, inspiration might strike sometime this year. Stay hopeful."

"Were there any famous witches in the Giant Wars?"

"Pansy, there were loads. Turn to page sixteen. There's a piece about a witch who parleyed with one of the clans in order to protect her village. You might enjoy it."

"How much of our OWL exam will be based around Giant Wars, Professor?"

"Uh... I don't actually know, Hermione. Maybe... Maybe fifteen per cent?"

"Fifteen per-?"

"Or less! I don't know! I'll ask and get back to you."

"You sound very anti-wizard, Professor," said Draco when he was handed a booklet.

Mike shrugged. "I'm not anti-wizard, Draco. I'm anti-idiot. And if someone is too afraid to come out of their little box and see things from someone else's point of view then that makes them an idiot. They're who I'm against." He gave a smile which Draco didn't return, then instructed everyone to turn to page three and start reading.

000

At the end of the lesson, Mike rubbed the dates off of the board, then found an old book propped up on his desk. He picked it up, looked at the cover, then called out, "What classes do you guys all have next?"

"Divination."

"Muggle Studies."

"Care of Magical Creatures."

"Ancient Runes."

"Who said 'Ancient Runes'?"

Over by the door, Hermione raised her hands. Mike grinned and motioned for her to wait one moment. "Brilliant, I'll walk with you. I just found this book I have to give back to Professor Babbling." He picked the book up and trotted out of the door, waving for Hermione to follow him. As he passed them, Lavender and Parvatti whispered something and cast Hermione angry looks. Then they swept out of the room to Divination.

Harry and Ron followed them, but Ron turned his head to watch Mike and Hermione. He raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. "You reckon girls'd like me if I gelled my hair up?" he asked as he and Harry walked.

Harry looked at him, struggling not to laugh at the idea. "No," he said. "Something tells me it wouldn't be a good look for you, Ron."

000

"I haven't been able to talk to you in ages," Mike said as he and Hermione walked down the corridor. "Congratulations on the prefect thing. I knew you'd get it."

"Thank you!" Hermione smiled. "I was so surprised when I got it, I didn't expect to. I thought for sure-"

"Don't do that," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "You knew full well you'd be a prefect. I mean, who else would've been picked? Lavender, due to her extensive knowledge of eyeshadow?"

Hermione blushed and looked away. This made Mike snigger and he poked her on the arm. "Hey!" he said, making her look up. "I'm just saying, modesty's fine but occasionally you're allowed to be vain. If I were as smart as you, I'd be yelling it from the rooftops."

Hermione turned an even brighter shade of red and sped up. Unfortunately, Mike had longer legs than her and kept pace easily. "Listen, how's Harry been holding up?"

Hermione looked up. "He... Well, he's been a bit on edge really," she admitted in a low voice. "What with people not believing him. It's been really annoying for him, having to hear everybody's comments about how their parents don't believe You-Know-Who's back and he's just lying. It seems he's always on the end of his tether and he keeps getting angry at the smallest things."

"I can imagine," Mike nodded. "And I bet Umbridge isn't helping, huh?"

Hermione shook her head. Mike gave a long sigh and scratched at his eyebrow stud, another nervous tick of his. "Well... If he ever needs someone to talk to or yell at or shoot curses at, my office is always open," he said, trying to grin. "Same for you and Ron, of course." He grinned widely and tossed the book from one hand to another. As he did so, Mrs Norris appeared from behind a nearby tapestry. He stepped over her, lost his footing, stumbled, and had to grab hold of Hermione's arm to stop from crashing onto the floor. Still clinging to Hermione, he righted himself, then straightened up when the school caretaker emerged from behind the tapestry. "Oh, hey Argus! Good to see you!"

Argus Filch passed by the two of them, going the other way. He shot Mike a dirty look and didn't return the greeting. Mike winced. "Man, I guess he's still not over it."

"Over what?" Hermione asked, turning to look at Filch's retreating form.

"Last year Peeves broke off all the taps in one of the bathrooms and an entire floor was flooded," Mike explained. Hermione nodded, remembering coming out of Arithmancy and stepping into a puddle. "And Filch was working on it and I may have said something along the lines of 'Well you have to admit, this is a little bit funny.' I don't think he's ever forgiven me."

Hermione gave a tinkling laugh, then paused. "Professor?"

"Yeah?" Mike was still looking over his shoulder at Filch, sucking his lip ring.

"You're holding my arm rather tight, it's starting to hurt."

"What? Oh shit, sorry." With a sheepish smile, Mike released Hermione and took a step away. There was a cough, a nervous shrug, and the two of them walked in silence for a bit. Then, after a minute's silent walking, Mike chuckled to himself. "God, I still can't believe Ron was made prefect. I thought Neville was gonna get it."

"Neville?" Hermione frowned in confusion.

"Oh yeah," Mike nodded. "Good ole reliable Neville. May not look like much, but there's solid stuff in there. Er... Not that Ron isn't wonderful, of course, I just-"

"No, I was surprised about Ron as well." Hermione was smiling slightly as she remembered the day she'd received her badge. "I actually first saw Harry holding the prefect badge, so I thought... Well, Ron wasn't too pleased that I'd automatically assumed Harry was going to be the prefect."

"Yeah?" Mike grinned, thinking about the Yule Ball the previous year. He was pretty sure that Ron would be annoyed if Hermione talked about anybody other than the young Weasley himself. Mike wasn't about to say anything to Hermione about it, though. Not then anyway. It was just so cute watching the two of them.

They'd reached the Ancient Runes classroom by this point and Mike bobbed up to Bathsheda Babbling, a short witch with wispy grey hair and a round, kind face. She thanked Mike for bringing the book back and offered him a toffee from a bowl on her desk. Mike accepted the sweet, then turned to leave. Just as he had one foot out of the door, Hermione said, "Professor?"

"Mm?" Mike said, his teeth clamped shut due to the toffee.

"Well... Ron said something about you holding auditions for a band?"

"Mm!" Mike nodded, then mumbled something.

"I'm sorry?"

Mike struggled for a second, then wrenched his jaws apart. "Gah! Uh... Is Ron thinking of auditioning?"

"Oh! Yes. I just wanted to say... Well, he's not very good." Hermione looked away, feeling awkward. She'd heard Ron practising during the Summer Holidays and hadn't been particularly impressed. "Just... Could you go easy on him? I don't want you to let him into the band or anything, just..." She trailed off. Mike smiled.

"For you, my best pupil, I shall grant your wish." With that, he turned, dodged around a group of Ravenclaws, then trotted off down the corridor. He wasn't sure, but he thought he was meant to be teaching a class just then in which case he should be getting back. Last time he'd left students in class unattended they'd started going through his desk, accidentally set off some fireworks he'd confiscated earlier, and nearly set one girl's hair on fire. It would probably be a good thing if that didn't happen again.

000

Ron twanged on the guitar strings a few times, his tongue clamped between his teeth. When the song was over he gripped his guitar awkwardly and looked up. He was standing in Professor Smitt's office, auditioning for the band that was being put together. In front of him, Professor Smitt and -Ron still couldn't quite believe it- Luna Lovegood were sitting behind the desk and listening to him. Smitt had arched his fingers and was watching Ron contemplatively. Luna was looking out of the window.

After a moment of awkward silence, Mike straightened up. "That was good, Ron," he said. "We'll get back to you."

"Was it good?" Luna asked, turning round. "I thought it sounded a bit out of tune. But then, maybe that's what we're going for."

Ron looked at her, his eye twitching. Seeing this, Mike hastily got to his feet and lead Ron out the door. "No no, that was really good. You've got a distinct style and an interesting fingering technique. Hard to beat. Who's next?"

Jeremy Stebbins, a sixth-year Hufflepuff, stood up and walked past Mike into the office. Mike grinned, waved goodbye to Ron, then stepped back into the room and shut the door. Luna was smiling dreamily at Jeremy who was starting to shift uncomfortably.

"Hello, Jeremy," Mike said, taking his seat next to Luna. "Show us what you got."

000

At half past seven that evening, the History of Magic teacher was hunched over his desk repeatedly banging his forehead against the wood. Luna watched him for a moment.

"I don't think that will make things any better," she said after a few seconds.

000

On the first Saturday of the first term, Mike was writing out a possible song for Suburban Avalon when there was a knock on his office door and Hermione entered. She wanted to know if Mike had any other books which she could use to learn about the Giant Wars. Harry and Ron would have been there too, she said, but they were both out at Quidditch practice. Ron had managed to get on the team thanks to Mike's excellent coaching and the two boys had been out playing all day. Hermione seemed extremely put out about this. Apparently they had lots of homework they should've been doing.

"Leave off them, it's only the first week," Mike had said when Hermione had started to complain. She had shot him a hard look which had reminded Mike of Molly Weasley and asked pointedly if he would get her her books. Currently, Mike was standing on a stepladder, running his eyes over all the books on his office shelves. Hermione was standing in the middle of the room, looking around.

"Sit down if you want," Mike said, indicating the chair by his desk. "I can't find the one I wanted. Ah! There it is. Hang on."

Hermione obediently made her way round the desk and sat down in his polished chair. Mike scrabbled for a few seconds, then grabbed the book he wanted and jumped down. There was a sizeable stack of books on his desk and he added this last tome to the top.

"This should do you," he said, brushing dust off his hands. "I've bookmarked all the interesting passages already. Just look through those and if you need anything else then give me a shout."

He grinned, but Hermione sighed. "You're a good teacher," she said after a pause.

"Oh. Thank you, Hermione. Means a lot to hear that."

"I really mean it. You're much more helpful than _some_ teachers at this school."

"Er... You know, I'm really not meant to talk about my colleagues-"

"Umbridge!" Hermione said, folding her arms in annoyance.

"Oh. Yeah..." Mike frowned. He had never had a full conversation with Dolores Umbridge, but he'd said enough to her to know that she would get on his nerves. If even Hermione was irritated by her then she couldn't be good. "Well what is it about her that's...worse than me? Purely so that I can improve myself, you understand."

"You actually teach us," Hermione huffed, getting up and thumping the books. "Umbridge doesn't. We just sit and read the textbook."

"Uh... Well that's not good."

"Especially since this is our OWL year," she continued, ignoring Mike. "We need someone who can teach us spells and curses, not someone who just makes us read."

"I understand..." Mike paused, then laughed. "Yeah, you need to know how it feels to cast the spells. Heh, I guess that means Harry won't have any problems with Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL, will he?"

Hermione looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on Hermione. Harry knows all those jinxes and hexes, right? He learnt a whole bunch for the Triwizard tournament last year. Plus, he's been in quite a few duels, so he knows his stuff."

Hermione blinked, not saying a word.

"I mean," Mike said, starting to feel uncomfortable. "I mean, if I had to choose somebody to tell me about spells, I'd choose the guy who's gone head-to-head with the most evil wizard of our age and lived. You know, 'cos he's had give first-hand experience. Uh, maybe if your Defence lessons aren't enough then you could ask Harry for some pointers."

Hermione was silent, but she was frowning down at her hands. Her lips moved, muttering something Mike couldn't hear. Then she smiled. "Professor, you're amazing."

"I am? I mean, yeah. Of course I am... Why exactly?"

But Hermione had picked up her books and headed out of the door without a backwards glance. Mike stood for a moment, then shrugged. He had never heard 'you're amazing' in this context before, but he was going to take it as a compliment just the same.


End file.
